Imperfect Circle

A poem about my hunger...

All I could see
was an imperfect circle,
jagged at the edges,
like I was.

Beyond my reach
burned a pale light—
a rumor of hope,
a window I could not touch.

Despair pressed me flat,
thick as a wet quilt,
smothering breath,
turning every heartbeat
into a slow bruise.

Hunger had driven me here—
a raw animal engine,
an emptiness that scraped
against the ribs
like a knife lo…