Read Poem: (anymore), by Charlotte E.E. Griffiths

i fold the sheet in the morning – still crisp white
from my last wash – and carefully set the coffee
machine on, the cups and grinder left neat from the
night before. i face the mirror a few times, open
eyes willing to see not perceive, and scatter about
searching for the morning anthem, a piece of purity
to cleanse my blood. i set the kettle for tea in the
afternoon and fight my way through an empty kitchen
for a good-enough use of lunch. i hold my own arms
when the nights get cold and pick out my favourite
blanket when the storms come. i draw my windows open
and sit beneath the sun on days i’m a little more
depressed and i’m careful to pay the bills on time
– my nest.

and, yes, we all do so well. we are resilient and
strong and determined as ever, dragging our nails
out of the cement base of the well bottom, clutching
breath in our lungs for the next time we fall
under – warriors with unwrapped wrists now healing.

but when you tell me i am such an im
pressive specimen – that you WISH you could
put the parts together this way, please

don’t.

not because we don’t deserve the credit
(because we do)

but when the options are:

death or

determination

there’s very few ways to choose.

i wash my hair out and take careful time in
the bathroom and every time i eat a big,
healthy meal

it is a conscious effort

a struggle learned

a self-care routine

absolutely necessary

to keep us from the bone

to keep us from the sharpener screw

to keep us alive and

i get tired

too.

i just can’t afford to lose.

(anymore)