On repeat

Mornings are the worst.
Your eyes struggle to adjust to the dimly lit room 
The sun pushing against the dark fabric of your curtains to get a glimpse of your misery
The birds tease you with their singing knowing very well you can never be as happy as them
As free, as high

You unfurl yourself from the fetal position you always find yourself in
The only position you find comfort in because it reminds you of a time that you were not born with promises of a miscarriage 
It reminds you of what Papa said when he found those bruises on your face
He said, son
When those bullies hit you you better hit back 
But if you can’t my son
Ball up
Get into that position and protect the important stuff
Protect your face because it will hide your shame
Protect your genitals for that will ensure that if you lose this fight, your kids will have the chance to win it someday

You promised Papa you will never have children 

Mornings are the worst you see
Blankets weigh down on your chest 
An anchor keeping you in place 
The hang man’s knot tied around your wrist and every turn of your head you feel the noose tighten around your neck
Think nice thoughts you think
Remember that joke that always gets you smiling
Reach for your phone like it was the last straw that will keep you from sinking further into the abyss 
YouTube is your friend
Maybe Comedy Central 
What the fuck did Trump do this time?
You remind yourself to breath 
To repeat to yourself these words of comfort
Mornings are the worst 
Noon will be better. 
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better
Mornings are the worst
Noon will be better


You find comfort in these words.
But mornings are the just the repeat button to replay your misery.
Over and over and over again.

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