The clicking of typewriter keys

have faded, and the ledger scribbling

ceased, and the sound of laughter

muted by heavy textbooks and headphones

tuning the rest of the world out lest I

decide this isn’t worth pursuing anymore.

 

This is my life now: stethoscope

amplifying your heartbeat while

tuning out what makes your heart beat

faster.

 

I am trying:

convincing myself, spitting

theories of delayed gratification, consoling

my weary heart

wants out, wants

anything but this, but

the heart is treacherous if it is consulted

for anything but its beating.

 

This is my life now: white coat wrap

dreams from reality’s biting cold, orphan

leave them on empty doorsteps, and ring the bell.

Someday, I will be back for you

when you have grown

aware of your worth, reject the birthright of my

arms when I finally have enough strength to hold you.

You have the right to.