By QUINCY SMITH
The inside of my palms are dirty
From the concrete blocks I sat on
The concrete was pressing against my palm
Creating a print in shape of pebbles
I look down and see the shape this concrete drew on my hand
My fists clench and unclench
Almost as if its searching for feeling
Almost as if i’m not feeling and I need to move to feel
I feel like screaming
But there are people
People who I love a lot
But don’t know what its like to burn and still smile
To be utterly lost
Drowning in the thickest mud
Gathering in your throat
I become a frog
An amphibian
A being on the threshold of breathing and suffocating
Isn’t it the same thing?
Being everything and nothing at once
All at the same time
All the time
Can I have some time to myself
But there are dreams
Stars waiting to be touched
Stages waiting to be cried on
Fields begging for screams
But i’ve ran out
Maybe tomorrow will be different
Maybe the sunrise can shine
And the brown iris in my eyes can bloom
And finally know when to stop
Quincy Smith ’25 is a staff writer
qsmith25@amherst.edu
Anna Zhou ’25 is a staff artist
azhou25@amherst.edu