imposter (n).

The Ache is an ever-present stranger - 
turning the lights off while
trying to make out the words,
closing the windows tight from
letting the breeze soften the air,
tipping the boat when
we are trying to cross to the
rocky side of the lake,
grasping at ankles while
sprinting through morning mist,
covering ears when
laughter is found leaving my lips,
singing the words wrong
to the lighthearted chorus,
saving a seat at the table
at this Saturday’s dinner.

I want to be clothed in
only the arms of my lover
and the words of the saints
and the strength of my friends
and the belief in better days. 

I do not want to be clothed in
this heavy fog that
fills my lungs with
oil and thunder.