yoga poem number one
was i always such an unhappy person? let yourself sink in to the mat, she says feel yourself come into the room, she says being consumed by misery has become necessary in my life. i press my forehead against the mat, the smell of pilling peeling, cracking plastic slicked with my sweat, hot and sweet, my arms should be in front of me spread forward, in front or at my sides but instead the stretch in my hips doesn't burn enough i twist my fingers into my hair and i tug. hard. i keep my hands behind my head, i yank and twist and shove my face harder down. i've been going to yoga classes for a few months. i said that when i graduated college, i'd finally be happy. i said that when i got a job, i'd finally be happy. i said that when i got writing published, i'd finally be happy. balanced on one foot, i wonder if the instructor sees me dragging my hands down my face instead of reaching them out. i bring my other sole back down, hard. breathing focus dies out when i am on my knees with my face on the ground it's ragged and out of uniform, shaky. hard. does everyone around me see it? how terrible i look? what's the one thing i could get to finally be happy? i force my inner elbow behind the back of my knee not natural, not for my body i want to feel my joints twist the pressure unrelenting my shuddering fingertips push me up all of me my fingers slip and i tumble forward forehead to the mat, hard.