What follows are two poems from a private collection (as in: you can’t have it!) written circa 2023. Maybe you’ll see some other poems from it somewhere else someday. I had a really cool title in mind.
Enjoy my science poetry!
I.
QUANTUM PHYSICS SAYS I AM UNTOUCHABLE
The skies look like my eyes do: spring-grey,
Apocalyptic, just that slight bit of yellow.
There is always something hanging over you.
I can’t tell you about what’s hanging over me.
Here are my hands, face up,
And you can put in them whatever you want.
Did you know that at our smallest
We are never actually touching anything?
Theoretically, your palm only hangs over mine —
There is no real risk of impact.
Except sometimes, when it happens.
I’ve felt it: impossible as the sickly dry sunlight
I can somehow see through the storm,
And makes me just as afraid.
II.
WE / ARE THE UNLIKELIEST THING
I hear
the hope
is that space is a fabric bent by bold things.
I hear also
the fear
is that the distance between things
is not anything at all.
Fuckshit
if you ask me.
If you ask me
there is only anything
where nothing is.
This nothing
is only nothing
for now.
There were many different nothings
before there was something
or someone to know about it.
Anything that can
will.
Does this
make sense?
I am the least alone
alone
but most afraid.
This is my bedroom
and the walls are too far apart.
These are the corners they make
from which anything could be watching.
I am still that kid
standing at the lightswitch
staring.
I count the nothings
I will pass in the dark
in which anything could happen.
I tell myself
nothing can hurt you once you get there
just get there
you don’t even have to look.
This is the hope
this is also the fear.
Hannah/saying/things 
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