Poem: Return ticket to Brighton

At the sight and smells of University halls

I can hear the freshers hacking up lungs and lunch in the middle of the night

We do not sleep.

My mothers’ waters were the most forgiving

Listening.

I have drowned twice

Limbs limp from failing.

Hair aflame and wind outstretched- I have survived this

I make the choice of survival everyday

to go on living, breathing

as if my trauma isnt bodily

They talk about computer science

Or whether workers are deserving of money.

I am tired of their little displays of intelligence.

Give me air, give me love, treat me like family.

Share mint leaves for tea, tell me if I have coriander in the cupboard

Lest I buy another little pot. Lest I waste money.