after Molly Brodak Fear, or a steel jaw underbrush. Love, or the undeniable urge to touch flesh to flame. I am nothing if not searching for more. More, meaning the weight I am capable of carrying. The boundaries I constantly test. The limits I have not reached. A body is mainly something to strain against. If I have learned anything it is the surety needed to walk the tightrope of selfhood. It is to disappear the net beneath me. I remain unbound. When I ask for help, I take its gentle denial as permission to make a bed with the worst of myself. The worst of myself being made entirely of guilt. Guilt, or the heft of a hand wrapped around a throat. A, meaning my. I learned, or was taught what it meant to be a burden. A mouth to feed. A love to bear. Now, I am unlearning how I shaped myself as result. Dizzying the world in the search for distance. An upturned wrist. A voice pitched high. The edges of life softening into something like a cradle. A basin holding no reflection. Help, a way out, or through. I no longer ask a question if I am scared to hear the answer.
BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in FOLIO, Roanoke Review, and Figure 1, among others. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co