The Body Votes

I signed the lease.

My hand shook so badly

the landlord could see it,

could see the pen

wavering across the line,

could see me

betraying myself.

My signature didn't look like mine.

It looked like someone younger,

someone still scared

of making mistakes,

someone who still believed

they could change their mind.

The landlord didn't comment.

Didn't ask about the tremor.

Just took the signed paper

and handed me the keys

and I walked out

with my hand still shaking

in my pocket.

On the drive home

I realized my body

had written the truth

before my mind could catch up—

that I'm terrified,

that I don't know

if this is right,

that every letter

in my name

was a small admission

of doubt.

I tried to steady my hand

on the steering wheel.

Couldn't.

My body knows

something

my mind won't admit.

My hand knows

this is a mistake.

And it was right

to shake.