Psalm 34:18, Caylah Graham

the feeling of being alone excites my brain, yet

fills me with despair, a temptation to the holiness of my spirit

a burning hole threatening me with a cleaver knife

one that dangles, dangerously close

an invitation, a hymn that reacts to the sap under my skin

voices whistling through the airy trees, that carries through

discarded towels that cinch my window and ghetto central air.

it is impossible to believe that I can be ordained

the privacy for such an act to proceed

in one bedroom and two couches for sleep,

with my mother and her daughter and god-awful white noise,

harsh snores that permeate the air as I gasp for silence and retribution,

for the loneliness that I cannot bare,

longing for a minute by myself to indulge

in the last bite of silver and glimmer and hope.