Sticky Shadows

The summer heat envelops,

a thick blanket of humidity clinging,

each droplet on my skin feels like a whispered accusation,

as I catch my reflection—distorted in the window,

a glistening surface hiding the chaos beneath.

Shadows stretch and curl,

the world swelters, and I feel it like a shadow—

my own sweat betraying me, pooling,

weaving stories of anxiety along my spine.

A passerby flinches at the sight,

perhaps they see the vulnerability etched in

my lined brow, the frantic pulse of a heart

that beats louder than the ambient hum of the day,

and I wonder if anyone knows this feeling, this charge,

underneath layers of fabric, beneath the sun’s relentless gaze.