imposter syndrome Taylor Franson, First Place the space between a body— who the body is and who the body wants to be— is a rocking chair waiting for an epiphany cupping hands around air and knowing it is still heavy the space between the sunrise and the sunset is an asteroid belt being stared down by a novice astronaut just trying to get home for dinner it will be a mountain of alarm clock bedsheets because the day is not to be wasted and broken plates because the body is weak tape pieces of glass together to find a rainbow
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while in a drought the space between who the body wants to be and who the crowd sees is a velvet steel beam moving on a sweat stained mattress a counterfeit bill didn’t choose its forgery martyr’s might choose their cause but never the bullet the space between a body and who the body wants to be is painted piety in a framework begging to be burned down the bullet didn’t choose to be a bullet but that doesn’t make it less deadly
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