I threw up in the sink this morning
When brushing my teeth
I stayed in bed too late again
So I hope nobody sees
The chronic messy bedhead
And the stringy, flakey grease
Putting on old wrinkled clothes
With that ***** laundry stink
Sleeping on a bare mattress
Too lazy to put on sheets
Saying I’ll pick up later
But I’m always napping
Laying on a naked bed
Swaddled in familiar dread
Making no plans to change it
Because I’m sick of trying
I’ve never felt as committed to life
As I have to dying
I haven’t bothered to write lately
Because I’m tired of whining
My great-great-great-great-great-times-a-million grandmother
was a whale.
And although the Origin of Species never mentions **** sapiens
I own that.
Because just as I have my mother’s calves and my father’s hairline
I have my grandmother’s blowhole.
An evolutionary adaptation to keep me alive
It’s done well so far.
The tides come in and the rains pour down as a flood and monsoon and I feel my lungs burning and I
At the surface
And I feel my grandmother’s pain.
She is trapped between graceful fish and powerful hippos
Life and death
Each deep breath a risk that after diving into the deep
she won’t return
I am told that I am
The culmination of billions of years of evolution
Why, then, is my blowhole necessary?
I wish I had inherited gills
Because the fear of drowning
spoken word lyrics about mental illness
— The End —