I mean, maybe someone took a bat
to the back of my neck. Hot oil to my shoulders
when I wasn’t looking. Fire ants.
Maybe in the night, a secret doctor
left a scalpel inside my ankle.
Metal on bone. Sandpaper to skin.
I fantasize about unscrewing my legs
from my torso to hang them in the closet, so I can finally sleep.
I dislocate my hip, on accident.
When I say I’m in pain, I mean I wish I could leave
my legs on the side of the road and move on with my life.
Ibuprofen. Restful Legs. Tylenol Arthritis.
I have visions of hitting my knees with a hammer
to control the infliction of it. I imagine the relief.
I go to the chiropractor again.

I dread thunderstorms and hip pain
that gets brighter and brighter white until I can’t see—
wires of lightning trapped in my joints.
I dread my periods, 29, 33, 38 days apart.
I dread being covered in blood that no one else sees.
Cramps like a small death. A swollen organ
wrapped around a piece of copper shrapnel.
Premenstrual vomiting, headaches, throat spasms,
unbearably vivid dreams.

Restless legs make me lunge and kick in the dark, an animal.
I whimper and wish I could run. I squat and sway, praying
that maybe my joints will pop right this time. I try not to panic.
Please let me sleep. Please. I have tears, I have blood.

I have a hammer.