Note: this poem has a unique format that appears better when viewed on a larger screen
it's either cancer or my period. it's either brainfog or just the way my hands grasp at nothing these days. lately i've been waking up thrashing like a goldfish drying out on a patch of sunstruck carpet. and my hair just keeps getting shorter. is there a specialist you could refer me to for that type of thing? i can't stop thinking about how a bluewhale’s heart weighs over 400lbs how there are things bigger than you or i could possibly comprehend. imagine a heartbeat that loud. a grief that massive. i used to be able to press my fingers against my eyelids and watch lights bloom like watercolour but all i see is white now.
Thanks for reading Trina Keeps Trying! You can find my other posts here, and you can read my poetry here. You can also subscribe to receive written works, made with love, straight to your mailbox every week.