break open my jaw. constructed without hinges small bits of self forced to seep through dry skin the word membrane. solidifying aqua molecules rob the body of celestial hum. Rigidity made love to my jaw. Semi-romantic. I can’t look you in the eyes. I’m accelerated shyness soft and unnerved. I’m agreeing before we’ve started talking. My fingers feel three times longer; I’ve manufactured more knuckles. I’ve stolen months worth of air.
Lauren Peter is a Midwest-based poet. She has a BA in Creative Writing from Metropolitan State University. Her current coping mechanisms are sparkling yerba mate and acrylic painting. You can find more of her work in Ghost City Review, Postscript Magazine, and DYNAMIS Journal. Twitter: @EyesLikeAChild.