Panic
Who is that girl?
Sitting Indian style on the cold, tiled kitchen floor
gasping for air as the sun slowly begins to rise
rocking steadily back and forth
in a vintage Calvin Klein dress
with pin-straight hair and a full face of make-up
Trying desperately to focus on the aroma of freshly brewed coffee
instead of the pins and needles in her right hand
the numb tip of her tongue
and the blurred vision that transforms her ordinary surroundings into a 3-D movie
Centered only by the two hands compressed on her heart
she musters the power to guide herself through repeated breathing
deeply inward and slowly outward
until she feels she has enough strength to stand up
and face the day
I’m not that girl