the tight band across my forehead like a physical thing not a thought somebody swapped me out like a goddamn pod person and the worst part is i don't think anybody noticed the pottery instructor still smiles the kombucha fizzes the wheel still turns but it's me it's ME it's my own face in the mirror my own hands but it all feels borrowed rented not MINE like i'm wearing somebody else's life and they just didn't say anything about it i keep waiting for the punchline but it never comes so it's like this endless awkward silence where i'm supposed to pretend everything is normal when EVERYTHING feels wrong. it feels like screaming. like someone put all my nerves on the outside of my skin and i shaved the hair the quiet. but the quiet still knows and it's laughing.