3 a.m. | a poetry collection

i | people like me in a pandemic

people like me don't visit other people's houses
in the middle of a pandemic.
we learn to stay inside our rooms, instead
with our phones popping and our speakers bursting
from notifications
we receive on every occasion
from all the million apps and channels we've subscribed to;
learning the stats,
burning them in our mind,
and breaking somewhere inside
when any one of our loved ones
ventures outside.

people like me don't watch medical dramas
every chance we get,
to learn of the emergency room traumas,
or the strange diseases, coming at us in multiple surprises
or the dreamy doctors
in love with the other characters,
or to watch the stories as they unfold each day, but to notice as
people lose the ones they love,
and to learn of ways to cope
with the grief never enough
of losing the person you appreciate
over and over again.

people like me who've lost as much as i have
to the strange smells of hospitals,
quiver every time we hear words in the back
of our minds, disastrous words with no confines:
accident, nurse, cure,
emergency, doctor and so much more;
because every time someone goes inside, we barely ever
see them come back alive;
so we take deep breaths
and wrap our heads
around ourselves,
desperate for our own support.

people like me think of worst-case scenarios
for every possible situation,
because we've seen the worst happen, on every occasion,
and we've felt in our hearts, the strings pulling us apart
and watch all faith be lost
until nothing's left no more,
so it's easy to think the way we do, with no emotions and clues
until people come over,
promising us forever,
making us believe in the disease of hope
and shattering the armour, we've made so secure
but then getting lost to hospitals too.

and then people like me don't know what to do
for all we're left with
is a crushed heart
and a broken hope
and a ruptured soul,
with no one left to blame anymore.