No one but me.

I'm sitting inside the sad place of my heart

that grows teeth and bites when I'm not looking.

I get lost there, stuck there really, because an incisor

has snagged my sock, and as I pull hard, I'm hurting

no one but me.

What is that moment like, telling this truth to a stranger

whose face could say it all,

whether they, too, bare holes in their socks

or practice pretending you're the only one who's

ever known what it means to cry?