Shapeless

I am shapeless

rising and falling against the rigid plane,
each inhale a cool question,
and every exhale some version of resolve –
a slowing tread in the fathomless deep of the not knowing

arms tucked around me,
I hold me close to myself,
coiling into a ball that part of me I’ve been so desperately clinging to lately,
the part of me in near-constant conflict,
the part that’s in an endless pursuit of a fulcrum

because my world has felt slanted,
my footing, at first, just off-balance enough to feel the steady slipping into another plane,
into a place where my edges become pliable,
where they begin to take their own shape

and I sink into the slide,
no power over the sculpting as they expand without the boundaries they so desperately wish to push against,
to shape themselves to

I am shapeless;
this shape is all mine

and…