My face feels too warm,

my skin feels like it’s moving

My feet connect with cement

My mind is in a million places

I want to cry or hide

or throw up the contents in my stomach

I want to curl up in the fetal position,

and doze off somewhere unseen and protected

I’m writing, though

with a pen that was a gift from our sponsor

I’m pouring my heart out, which is gross

I’m picking apart my brain’s puzzles

to find some peace

so I can fall asleep

It’s harder than I thought it’d be

to start all over

This isn’t what I envisioned

when they said “fresh start”