Flow

I don’t know what happens when we die.
I don’t even know what it means to live.
I don’t know why the sun sets and
Rises, and if I’m being honest, 
I forget where east and west are,
And what the sun does at each.
I don’t know why I cried
During school. 
It was science class and we were
Learning about electricity,
How connection works,
How some material is conductive,
Others not.
A group of kids around their desks,
Yelling for their turns with the wires
And the lightbulb,
Trying not to look at me sobbing,
My face in my elbow,
Squeezed tight
Like my head is a torch 
I’m trying to put out. 
Maybe I did know,
Even then, 
How hard it was to feel whole,
To belong, how even surrounded by
People, surrounded by life,
I could feel like plastic,
Stopping the flow dead in its track.
A closed current.