I’m not really very good at poetry. I’ve wanted to be better and I’ve worked on it, but often I find that short stories are my best form of writing.

But I was awake all night and this morning I wrote a poem. I didn’t even have to work hard at it, it just seemed to tumble into my brain and it’s the first halfway decent piece of writing I’ve been able to drum up in quite some time. So, here it is –

Just like I do,
every month
I get my hopes up.

I tell myself not to.
I have no right to want a thing.
What do I expect?
‘Things like this never happen.’
‘Now wouldn’t be a good time.’
‘Be grateful for what you already have.’

You’re not even sure you want to live.
You’re not even sure you want to live!’

So I hold my breath.
And I clear my head.
And I pass the time.

But I can’t help hoping
– like a little girl in a fantasy –
that something magical will happen.

And then it doesn’t.
I have no right to be upset.
What did I expect?
‘Things like this never happen.’
‘Now wouldn’t be a good time.’
‘Be grateful for what you already have.’

You’re not even sure you want to live.
You’re not even sure you want to live!

So I hold my breath.
And I stuff it down.
And I bleed it away.

Just like I do,
every month.