Coffee and Closets

It's the coffee and the
closet I could walk right
through that make me crazy.

It's not so good in one so
young, but I don't feel that
young to begin with so the
side-effects shouldn't matter--
the shaking, the stunted growth.
Just as long as I can
slip between the wood of this now
lack-luster closet and reach the
other side, coming through where the
wall used to be and
seeing a different angle.

If I stand there, between the
beams, and lift my
quaking hands up so I
cover the space between two beams,
I could be a wall; existing only to
separate. Inanimate. Simple and strong.

If I stand there, between the
beams, and lift my
quaking hands up and press them so they
stop shaking, I can't reach that
coffee any longer and I begin to
wonder when I'll be demolished again so I can
double-over and curl-up and
exist only for myself and not for everyone
else's crap to be hung on.

I'll begin to wonder when I can
stop having to decide a
room and be able to
quake and quiver throughout from all that
warm coffee in my empty,
morning-stomach.