Monday, Mundane
The morning, gloomy grey,
a fresh breeze that smells so distinctly of the beginning,
a car speeding, splashing water from collected puddles
that seem so familiar,
the coffee that permeates as Mother readies herself,
the crackle of talk-show radio,
music too energetic for a lazy sunrise,
donning uncomfortable clothes for an uncomfortable ride,
mental rituals to ready the psyche,
no longer excited to repeat what happened yesterday,
or last week,
or last month,
but needs must,
and so needy we have grown,
a fight to keep our house a home,
a roof, sanctuary privilege,
a fridge, stocked with what no one wants to eat,
but we are fed, we are well,
the pills ease what little burden we feel,
on a count down to our freedom,
two whole days — yes, please,
when I am most at ease.
I found this poem in an ancient document from when I was 14 - that’s almost a whole 10 years ago, would you believe it! I was an overdramatic teenager who really did not want to go to first-period Maths. It’s rather relieving to know I never have to go back to school. It really was not the place for me.
I like finding these snippets of the past. It doesn’t matter that they sometimes make my eyes roll, they’re a preserved moment. Evidence that life has happened, and that it shall continue to happen. I sometimes think of my younger self and I miss her. There’s so much I’d like to say.
Thank you for reading.
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