The Behaviour of j

There are twelve left
Jettisoned in the bush
The one with prickles that nips my fingers
I feel safe
Plunging my hand back into this world
Of powder loose and shaken
Hollowed out candy dispensers
Moisture on my fingers
I go to the library and wipe my hands
I walk past the children’s books
whatyouaredoingiswrongyoulittleshit
The voice drowns out of me
Disappears as soon as my fingers start moving quickly mopping up what I need from the toilet floor
That ringing urgency in my ears
The essence of who I am
The me that took hold in that first blue toilet
The one when there were sixty
In a little velvet bag and one small bottle
How long and how suddenly
How cleverly this powder has mobbed me
Taken me down
Given me an existence bare but comfortable
Comfortable as thorns
I nod and smile
Wear an apology I need not make
This is who I am
I hold my hands together to stop them twitching to stop them pointing to the place the one where no one looks
This is how it will always be
This is the behaviour of j