Folding. Poem by Samantha Stough

Fortune comes to call
Insect perched on my thumb
Hope dies along with summer
I fold like a lawn chair

The sun hurts my eyes
But the beauty is worth the burn
Melt my frigid soul
Maybe it’s just too late

Winter makes me shiver
I argue to stay warm
Stupidity and simple living:
My heritage

All alone is what I want to be,
Yet what I fear to be
Being human weighs heavy on my shoulders
Regrets and doubts consume me

Repress
Suffer
Collapse
Repeat