do you know yet what is being built here

There’s no perfect time, except 
maybe before it’s too late.
Alarm blaring, I’m tangled, 
sweaty. I’m a comfortable 
sleeper. It’s dawn brings the nightmares.

I get up in the morning 
because I remember the 
alternatives being worse.
I rise and pour coffee as 
a compromise. (I only 
make it myself when asked – sorry.)

These days are the worst of both 
worlds - I am isolated 
and lonely and feeling watched
in the most frightening ways.

Do you know what is being built here?
It should frighten you too, nobody 
passes under the surveillance lights. 
Do you know yet what is being built here?
It should frighten you too, third time’s the charm, 
tissue paper lungs. Yes, my body and 

brain are an inconvenience most days.
Let the positivity bloggers 
gasp, I roll my eyes and repeat until 
I almost believe it: the facts don’t make 
me unworthy of love, care. What am I 

against the churning of the world?
I work on myself, I take care 
of my own – it’s not enough.
They work on themselves, they take care 
of their own – it’s not enough.

“It should be enough to just survive in times like these,” she says. “It’s not fair that it doesn’t feel that way.”

Do you know yet what is being built here?
I am the creator and the creation
I am the artist and the work
My greatest design, perpetually unfinished
Do you know yet