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.
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