Bad Bones

Sometimes I feel my bones want to break free.

They poke at my flesh from the inside.

I find myself contorting, often
In a bizarre manner,
Like how you snap chicken breasts to get
The meat and bone to separate,
And its the same with me, as if
Those bones are trying to twist themselves
Out.

One time, I felt an itch
In an impossible spot on my back.
Without a thought I reached to scratch it
And if not for the immediate response to pain
The speed at which I reached might have
Just snapped my joints clean off.

That’s when I first suspected
Those bones were out to get me.

Another time, I was sitting passenger side
In a car, and I felt an urge
To watch the passing scenery
Sideways, to get a different view.
Twisting my head to the right, I watched
As nothing changed, but then my head
Refused to turn left-side up,
And an urge to keep twisting grew
Stronger, stronger, and stronger, until
My friend, who was driving, laughed at me,
Sobering me up.

Those bones were out to get me, again.
Do they have a mind of their own?

When did it start? I don’t know. I don’t
Even know how to elucidate
The feeling I’m aiming to describe.
All I know is that even now
As I write this, the strongest urge
In my body is to take my hands
And put them in my mouth, the right
Pulling my upper teeth up, the left
Pulling my lower teeth down, ripping
My jaw wide open. And I’m afraid
If I stop writing
I’ll do it.

Sameen Shakya