Disordered, on a boat

By -
I smudge storm clouds across my eyelids;
a nod to the tempest.

I perform my person.

Inwardly, 
I'm raking through a sea of sequences;,
spun from every action I do;
like undulating hair underwater,
long and tangled.

My therapist says to shift the sail,
but waiting sirens wear my brand of perfume,
they know how much I need to pull
one strand of untruths from the others 

to find a tangible, soothing, line.

I've got a lot on my mind, I say.
I'm fine. 



LJ Ireton, 2024

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