29

You’ve filled us up with fear

It’s seeping out of our skulls

We’re all sipping, tripping, slipping away.

Our hearts humming at our breast bones with tiny thuds that don’t let us sleep without

Citalopram, Medazepam, Diazepam.

Balled up tightly so we can only flick at keyboards and hope change is made on screens.

Too afraid to see face to face to face.

Too much space between the shape of what we thought we’d be

And who you’ve made us.

Self care is a forever thing.

Even though it’s shit, it’s true. Self care is a forever thing. We need to do that shit all the time. We can’t just take a bath once in a blue moon. We need to have baths all the fucking time. We need to eat fruit and drink water. We need to find an exercise that doesn’t make us want to chop our own feet off. We need say ‘I’m pretty fucking wonderful’ to ourselves every once in a while. We need to go to bed without our phones. We need to freeze. Close our eyes. And breathe. Even if your on the Victoria line at 7 am on a Monday morning. Even then. We need to ask for some more help please and give more help when it’s asked for. We need to moisturise. Self care is a forever thing. A daily thing. Or in your most sacred of places you brain place will have a panic party. And it’ll go like this:

I’m having a panic attack because I can’t find the right book in the library. Number 371.271. The numbers. I hate this horrible day. I can’t find the n. Fucking. The. 371. What. It’s too hot. They’re not helpful. 37. Point. What. Coal on my tongue. Swallow. Too hot. I’m having a panic attack because I can’t find the book. And everyone’s looking at me in the wrong way. I could kill someone. I hate. This. 371 point 361 it’s no good. Hard luck. I need to leave. I need to remember to breathe. It’s. I. It’s a stupid fucking system and the carpets stupid and. Where the fuck is the fucking. 

I’m having a panic attack in a library (my sacred place) because I forgot self care was a forever thing. 

So today I had a bath and before that I did some yoga. It was cosy and soft and even though my brain didn’t fully switch off. And the dragon in the chest was still fucking about with its wings and fire. I feel a little better. And I know. If I do it more. I’ll feel more like me and less like I’m trying to hide a dragon under my tits. 

today

Today is sour, curdled in its sickly insides.

It’s puffed up and chocked around its throat.

Crooked in its edges.

It drags its swollen belly across time in zig zag sighs.

It hangs its saggy body over my head all year round.

Hissing it’s long ‘I’m nearly here.’

Today it prickles between my bones and skin.

Clamps itself around my chest with steely claws.

At six our memories are in a suitcase.

Stuffy in their space.

I hold them close in you and the you I think of every day.

Grief doesn’t leave.

It’s just replaced.

It turns from one pain to the next in a coin toss.  

Curls into a new creature.

Leaving today bitter, congealed, fermented. 

And we pull our heavy legs through its waters.

And remember today is just a day, it’s just not like any other.

Shrunken dog

My black dog has shrunk. I might have put the beast in the wash.

I think I must have.

My black dog has shrunk and is stretched in weird ways, his fur is licked into curls that stick to his sloppy face.

His stuffing is bulging around his knees and ankles, his calves are saggy.

Disfigured and tiny my black dog has turned from beast to stuffed puppy.

Without his growl being so loud, it’s become, life has become, a little bit quieter.

I’m a little less frightened.

It’s slightly easier to climb out of bed in the morning. 

Now he’s shrunk so small. 

I’ve grown tall. Taller. 

I’ve not done the bad things, not a single one of them, for a while now. Now he’s so much smaller.

I guess I get a chance now. To feel proud now, about the time we had together just before now.

 When I needed to be stronger because he was so loud when he was around when he was big and tall and round.

Now he’s in the palm of my hand, I’ll tuck him up, I’ll put him down.