I’m here,
in a small moment
looking
for windows
to break
this isn’t rebellion
I tell my mom
I broke a jar on asphalt
picked it up with my hands
I listen to melancholic
silence
in big rooms
I nod
and sweep by people
I don’t hand out flyers,
or paint t-shirts,
I stay inside my head
dreaming
about bony limbed frogs
who push against me
and eat each other
Myisha is trying to be a good mammal.