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i carry stress in my hips, jaw, brainstem, and along the longitudinal axis that curvilinearly joins my two shoulders. Fatigue and pain cut through my lower back; my third eye is carved by worry; overstimulation and shame clamp my teeth together tightly; anxiety traces a clothes hanger from shoulder to shoulder, hooking my neck with an incessant tug. I’m taught, wound, and wriggled into traps on the inside. The older I am, the more i’m curious about the relationship pleasure has to pressure.  Dig your thumbs into the joint of my jaw with vertical motion, and you witness my brain turn to jelly. Press your hand firmly along my lower back, and like ice you cool me from red-hot to room temperature. With thumbs hooking the front of my pelvis, drag your fingers through my hips to bring me to my knees, melting. It’s not all that sexual in reality. Before all of that connection I may or may not tack onto you, you’ve helped me feel release that grows closeness to myself. 

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I’ve always loved something between my legs. To spread my hips wide. Routinely, it’s a pillow propping my knees apart while I slumber. Or, when the pillows are taken up, a stray leg to slide between. For several years, it was the straddling of a horse’s barrel. Every inch wider, I feel aligned. They’ve been locked together for weeks, however. 

Each morning, I wake to a fear opening my mouth. This sunrise could conjure the hollow pop that finally does damage. Worse yet, the musculature could have sewn itself shut, again. Either way, my mouth finds the agape position regardless. I just prefer a set of index fingers embedding themselves in the lower jaw prior to. 

Like wings across my shoulders — nest beneath the blades — are small armies of constricting snakes. They quarrel daily and seem to have no regard for my daily tasks. Pileups converge in new arrangements weekly. They beg to be pressed and spread too.