a week of waking up with lead in my bones adulthood cuts through the air i breathe in the sharp monotones of hourly water reminders. a baby spider wills fifty-six different muscles to traverse planes of a bathroom wall and challenges gravity along the way. the sunlight wins a game of tug-of-war against my eyelids and i wake up with a hungry mother's prayer on my lips. i am running out of breath and i want the world to stop spinning for a goddamn second. there is a theory that