on shriveled adolescence by Erin Ye (16, New York)

taps on the door and other clichés,
sometimes i wonder if i cry too much.

now i didn’t know there was an upper limit to 
salted tears and wilted water,
a quota on how much redness could take over a face until
i felt myself cold
on the ground,
having hit the ceiling and ricocheted back--

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i was never the best at physics but
i could have sworn i used to float.