Now a sliver of moonlight hits
the paisley patterns
on the wallpaper in my room.
Amoeba-like shapes with colorful flourishes
remind me of biology, where we learn
about the origins of life.
When it all began.
A primitive period before time
that was microscopic and lively,
evolving over billions of years
into the world as we know it,
before there were humans
who yell and scream
over imaginary crimes.
This perception that I’m only one tiny,
unimportant nano-event
in human history comforts me.
I tell myself
we’re all the same, basically.
Connected, even when it doesn’t feel that way.
The wallpaper’s the last thing
I see at night.
Mornings, I stare at it again
as my mother reads the charges
accumulated against me
while I was asleep.
(I’m always guilty of something.)
This family has taught me
to live high on adrenaline,
the way people do in a conflict zone.
That’s how life is
inside a totalitarian system.