Hold your breath

It’s a funny thing, I suddenly became acutely aware of the mortality of all the people I love last year. Of the utterly precarious nature of everything we take for granted in life. Of the way we can keep putting difficult things off, conversations, reparations - Aware, on a new super fun deeply painful level. 

And parallel to that, very aware of how an entire adulthood interlaced with therapy had finally changed things I thought were unchangeable, instinctual things - I felt briefly powerful in that. Because, of course it all has a purpose. It always fucking does

The words feel hollow. 

As they roll around in my head.

But when I drag them from my mouth, 

They are like lead weights. 

I choke on every one.

…

…

…

My mum has cancer. 

I feel like I’ve just stopped spinning.

That weird hum throughout my body 

That happens a split second before the dizziness starts.

But the hum doesn’t stop and 

I feel terrified. 

26th January 2023. 10.19pm

When I was really small

I would share a bed with her 

Whenever we went on holiday. 

Curling my little body up against her back, 

Like I was still a part of her body.

My ear pressed up along side her spine.

Holding my breath so tightly, as though

Until I felt her heart beating 

I could not rest. Like 

My own life depended upon it.

Making sure that she was breathing 

That was my purpose.

The reason I existed.