Every morning I sit at the kitchen table over a tall glass of water swallowing pills.
(So my hands won’t shake.) (So my heart won’t race.) (So my face won’t thaw.)
(So my blood won’t mold.) (So the voices won’t scream.) (So I don’t reach for
knives.) (So I keep out of the oven.) (So I eat every morsel.) (So the wine goes
bitter.) (So I remember the laundry.) (So I remember to call.) (So I remember the
name of each pill.) (So I remember the name of each sickness.) (So I keep my
hands inside my hands.) (So the city won’t rattle.) (So I don’t weep on the bus.) (So
I don’t wander the guardrail.) (So the flashbacks go quiet.) (So the insomnia
sleeps.) (So I don’t jump at car horns.) (So I don’t jump at cat-calls.) (So I don’t
jump a bridge.) (So I don’t twitch.) (So I don’t riot.) (So I don’t slit a strange man’s
throat.)
-Jeanann Verlee
Words for the Year 
Wow. Just, wow.
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Yep, I thought so too.
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pretty hard to like, hard to read.
i love it though…thanks
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Like a jagged little pill… It was a tough one for me too, couldn’t not share it.
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Holy cow wow….eerie good. Kinda crazy when the crazy hits close to home.
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This one definitely kicked a lot of us in the stomach…that makes me both happy and sad, you know?
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I have remnants of a post in two or three spots. It has some eerie similarities…
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