Phone a Friend

I wrote this poem inspired from ‘Still The Kids Don’t Give a Shit’ by Mark Grist, a teacher-turned-poet from Peterborough, UK.

Photo by Gabriele Motter on Unsplash

I thought I’d planned for everything

but I forgot grim nights, I was negligent

look at Mr Lune’s big face, it’s elegant

however, during the days I think I am okay

so I dive into my books and read away

and I know it’s okay to not be okay

still fixated on what the night will bring that day

and as days melt into night I sit

that if I try to forget, that’ll fix it

no Coronavirus, no self-isolation

spending time with Diana, Clarke and Batman

confined to a house on Abington lands

yet some days I feel the pinch of the lost

I read articles, from the Guardian to Vice

and I retrace the days I spiralled into nights

of not sleeping one iota, not one wink at all

spending hours looking at four walls

time is spent writing poetry or prose

reading, watching films, and television shows

Photo by Gabriel on Unsplash

longer than my phone number

occasionally, I dip into work emails

but when I’m not working, I feel like I’ve failed

I buy nonfiction with interesting headings

try to buy for my masters with “fun” embedded

stuff that asks serious questions

whilst making it light with a Black Twitter reference

reading stuff with one foot in reality

trying to keep some degree of normality

Photo by chuttersnap on Unsplash

but nearly four weeks in, the nights don’t shift

but as soon as midnight comes, something inside me flips

it feels like I spent a year amassing failure

from ticking diversity boxes to being an events creator

possible collaborator in institutionalised racism

maybe that’s harsh, but it does feel like escapism

political thrillers that look like dystopian fiction

multiracialism burning my brain cells like song

these texts dominating my wish lists on Amazon

but being holed up during the night

I can no longer appreciate the beauty of daylight

looking at four walls who stare right back

joint pains and aches, my knees going slack

is this what anxiety feels like

panicking as depression strikes

Photo by Sydney Sims on Unsplash

wrapped-up in in a blanket

oh shit look at how my walls have eyes

it’s time for a rest, Mr Lune sings a lullaby

but it’s two in the afternoon

introvert-self enjoys the silence

autistic-self longs for some guidance.