Up until I was six I was convinced
The earth’s crust was so thin
That I could dig my way to lava
With just a backyard shovel.

I guess the ground has always been shaky
Underneath me,
Tectonic plates turning time under my soles,
So it shouldn’t be a shock
That they called me a pessimist from the start,
But in my mind it was just what was false
And what was —

(You probably won’t think this is true, but)
The ridges along my spine feel
More like fault lines these days
My core shifts into a million fragments,
And I want to burrow my way to Africa
So my feet can land on solid ground.

Last night there was an earthquake and
I didn’t even wake up,
I have grown to crave the aftershock when there is no before.

My bones ache for the tremor of when
I can finally say what is real and what is
My imagination, and it could be just a trick of the light but
My reflection is shifting with the tides
Soon I will be unrecognizable.