Read Jeanann Verlee's Poems in Thrush Magazine and Know What It Means To Be Unhinged

Read Jeanann Verlee's Poems in Thrush Magazine and Know What It Means To Be Unhinged :

laurenzuni:

Good Girl

Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills. 
(So my hands won’t shake.) (So my heart won’t race.) (So my face won’t thaw.) 
(So my blood won’t mold.) (So the voices won’t scream.) (So I don’t reach for 
knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes
bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the
name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my 
hands inside my hands.) (So the city won’t rattle.) (So I don’t weep on the bus.) (So 
I don’t wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia
sleeps.) (So I don’t jump at car horns.) (So I don’t jump at cat-calls.) (So I don’t 
jump a bridge.) (So I don’t twitch.) (So I don’t riot.) (So I don’t slit a strange man’s 
throat.)