365 Poems/17 Maintaining Support (Very rough first draft)

Maintaining Support

Eleven years ago I was surrounded by madness.

My heart had shrunk to half its original size,

and death was in daily conversation

as something that could actually happen.

 

I hated everyone and didn’t appreciate

when you would bring me good tissues,

fruit and fig rolls. I couldn’t believe

you didn’t understand fig rolls

were as dangerous as morning coffee biscuits.

 

You didn’t appreciate my reasoning

for going vegetarian,

but could read my daydreams.

 

Three years ago, I was prescribed

anti-psychotic medication,

and you went with me at midnight,

on your birthday, to pick up my prescription.

 

It was October. It was cold. I was scared.

I didn’t for a second think  you would be too.

 

In the car, while I swallowed my pills

and cried, convinced I was going to die,

you calmly started the car and we drove home,

Radio 2 murmuring on the stereo.

 

Yesterday, you said you could feel my ribs again,

and I didn’t believe you, but I have a wound

that isn’t healing, and that can only mean one thing.

 

I need to listen, because your guidance

has been with me since the beginning.

The image that inspired this piece.

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