Journal Poem in the Library

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she's got her hands twisted up in a blanket
shoved warm and safe up near where her stomach puckers, just so.
i've got your voice coming from the kitchen
a cat by my ankles
sand in my eyes cause i can't sleep well when i start thinking.

i am in desperate need of tea.
something awful twists inside me, i need lipton, fake lemon
a bleached tea bag and a cup that melts over and over in my hands.

how do you stand it, living?
in my own body it feels like every blood platelet
just desperately wants to get away
am i so magnetically inverse that even my cells
feel the need to rocket away from each other?

she tells me i need to keep going.
and she tells me it's my only job.
and she tells me it's my responsibility.
and she tells me it's her dying wish.

they keep giving me support, but it feels like chains.
screaming suits me fine, thanks.