we were made to fidget
we all vibrate.
our hearts, veins, neurons—
molecules of heat.
there are profound pulses
palpating in us— we can never
truly be still.
can anything?
This poem is about:
My community
Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741