Out from the cold,
thawed veins that bulge
and itch in the warmth.
Noticing this dissonance,
I consult my fears, I imagine
blood pooling in the wrong
places. I shutter and fold,
my pulse slowing.
I worry people will look at me,
see the beads of moisture forming
across the crest of my hairline.
I worry until I’m locked
in the bathroom, unoccupied
and sterile, brown faux-wood floors
now soaked with a sweat stain, mine.
I lay down, legs up, one faceted side
of polished red garnet, a two dimensional pulse.
I have been here before.
The power of the blood,
removing me, removing itself,
at the notion of being unwillfully discovered.
Ryan Amejka (he/him) is an emerging poet from the Greater Philadelphia area and an undergraduate student at Rowan University. He has lived abroad in Tokyo, Japan and hopes to colorfully chronicle this experience through his work. You can find him on Instagram: @ryanaceam
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