you disappeared into my body like
I was an open house, you
found a home in between my lungs and settled like dust, you splayed tendons
and began to climb between my ribs, slowly made an incision inside me too raw to be resewn,
I feel
infected and overexposed,
orange soda and week old coffee encrusted in a plastic cup on the windowsill everyday,
the smell is too close to vomit everyday, it sticks to my bones
you found a hiding place in my throat and behind my tongue, worked your way through my arms to straighten the knots and twisted muscle I worked so hard to contort into immovable structures
I can’t seem to get you out of anywhere other than my head

Sophia Sar is a sophomore psychology major who writes poetry in her (rare) spare time.