BROWN FUR

Words by Lauren Shallow

Look at me while you write that prescription. You said “I could be so… If only I-” Here, you have managed to fillet me, Salmon pink meat and bones to choke on. So, look at me.

Little gods upturned in my lined palms, I can’t show you anything. I sit myself in empty rooms. I steal lovely things from myself, and it works Sometimes it works, and that’s enough, I stumble forward.

Tell my friends I’m sorry that I curl up and call it comfort, they are angry and right, I find it easy to be alone. I didn’t realise I was taking from them too. And that I interrupt them, that I am currently interrupting them, to tell them so, And that I will always be pressing sorrys into them.

But the Scottish doctor listened to me, And I have good words now, Symptoms, I am communicating to you with symptoms rather than empty hands. I am holding my dear, worn heart, whispering I know why you haven’t, haven’t.