Poetry from Brianna Dawn.


how is it that illness can break the binding
that holds us together, tethering together
straps of negativity that slap us in the face
then trap us in the core of a stream of thoughts
and memories drudged up from the past
we believed we had fought off and let go of with

when we are sick, we aren’t lenient with ourselves
stretched across a bed under puffy blankets
becomes more like an existential hell and we
fabricate elaborate dystopian views of our
personal tiny historical timelines
we question every tiny path we walk, think of walking
or have walked when on any other day
we would have been fine and wouldn’t have
given it a second glance

when we are at our worst, we aren’t compassionate with
second, third, or even an eightieth chance
to rework ourselves, instead we stumble
through our libraries scouring our mind for the worst
memories we had shelved behind all of the rest
the best takes the back burner as we
draw ourselves near a flame
hurting ourselves with all of the pain
we had coped with in the past

2 Responses to “fevers”

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