Sometimes you have to unlock the chest
and hurl your throbbing heart into the afternoon air
so stuffy and hateful &
perfectly taunting
fighting back against the restlessness in those tippy toes
to stand up tall against the counter
and count the screams from the windows.

February falls not far from the wandering tree
these winding fingers this sloping house
the floor on which I stand is coated in crumbles
and my feet slip in their bareness.

Sometimes a scream is not as scary
as it may seem to be.
Sometimes — often, as is —
a scream is essential.

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