Slumber

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A poem from the memory of grade school birthday parties,

and a current sleep pattern that’s never quite matched up with the other twentysomethings’.

Slumber

I am always the one in silence.

I am the first one asleep,

and the first one awake.

I sit in empty rooms with sleeping bodies

while the morning breathes quietly.

Hugging my knees,

perhaps reading a book,

and waiting for the life around me

to remember that it exists.

That I exist, too.

Slumber parties

were always a particular kind

of torture chambe...