Waves of bodies
form around me.
pressed limbs on
limbs. sweaty skin
sealed with mine.
This feeling is
inexplicable.
I am aware of
every touch
yet i want
nothing
more
than
to
d
i
s
a
p
p
e
a
r
.
However,
loneliness
in itself
is suffocating.
the thoughts
surround me
like these
bodies.
is it me?
how do i
make it
s
t
o
p
?
the heat of
the room
engulfs me.
the warmth of
strangers.
the burning of
my blood.
it does nothing
but make me
i
t
c
h
.
i wish my skin
would tear apart.
i wish to feel the
cold air surround
my bare veins.
feel my arteries
dance in the wind.
i want my skull to
crack and unravel
my brain into its
pieces, freeing me
from overthinking
freeing me from the
pain and guilt. that
haunts my
m
i
n
d
.
I try to
breathe.
in a room
suffocated by
dust and
smoke.
i consume it
with every
staggered
inhale.
exhale
and i am
empty
again.
in a body
like mine,
space
is a
l
u
x
u
r
y
.
Layla Mesa is second year Fine Arts student. Her main passions in her art are illustration and poetry. "This was one of the writing assignments given to us throughout our Intro to Poetry class, taught by Merlin Ural Rivera, which became my favorite class I have taken this semester and in general," Layla says. "The prompt of the assignment was to write something that makes you uncomfortable or something you have always avoided writing about. So I decided to write about my fear of tight spaces. I tend to avoid writing or even talking about this fear of mine, because many people don’t believe that I genuinely am claustrophobic, given that I live in New York and go to punk shows, which are filled with people in a small area. So to acknowledge these opinions I decided to write the poem, to explain how I feel and what goes through my mind when going to these punk/screamo shows while maintaining the fear of tight spaces."