The Posture You Don't Know You're Making

The monitor's dark.

I'm hunched in it,

shoulders high, spine curved,

folded so small

I can barely be marked.

Then footsteps.

A shadow moves past.

My whole body remembers

to be someone else.

I lengthen.

My chest opens.

I become

the version I think

should exist.

They walk by.

I wait for the old shape

to come back, but it doesn't

right away.

It's like my body keeps

two postures—

one for alone,

one for observed.

The monitor doesn't lie.

It shows me the truth

in the dark.

The rest of me does.