HOWL

Hello,

The following poem is not a happy one. I always try to tend towards optimism, towards positivity, towards being lighthearted, but sometimes there isn’t room in my brain for lightness. My autoimmune illness has been roughing me up lately, and a new medication from my psychiatrist is in very early days, and those days are often exhausting as my body adapts. Last night, after a violent bout of D woke me up at 3.30am, I lay in bed, flattened, exhausted, yet unable to sleep. So I wrote sad poetry. If you don’t want to feel sad, or triggered, or whatever, maybe skip to one of my other poems, something that might be more of a giggle. I hesitated to post this one, but it’s powerful (I think) and may speak to someone who is going through something similar.

HOWL

In the rude depths of night,

my guts awaken,

Slam the door on dignity

And the struggle begins.

Relief in a shitshow

of utter depletion.

Exhausted beyond sleep,

Pummelled into a negative jumble of thoughts,

My belly drained hot, heavy,

My bones buzzing,

Nerve endings exposed, tangled in a

Dead weight of despair,

Because those who should, never seem to care.

It’s just their job.

Just another shitshow.

Maybe tomorrow, if I howl a little louder,

There might be a cavalry, somewhere.