A poem began to form as I fell asleep,
I was too exhausted to write it down,
Instead it ebbed and flowed on by.
Even as unconsciousness took me,
I tried to grasp onto the stanzas,
While they withdrew inside the vault.
“I haven’t written poetry for 2 months,”
I realized at 3 in the morning.
There was no time,
Nothing was left.
I need to either make more time!
Or care a little less.
My promotion, my graduation,
Everything relies on my brain,
I can’t lease it elsewhere.
My poems were hiding from me,
They knew I don’t have the time,
Yet they’ve started inching out,
Not caused by my permission,
But induced by the end in sight.
Once only my career,
And actual life remains,
I can take a breath again.
I’m in the middle of Finals,
It’s the best time to write.
Here’s the problem with poetry:
It’s created with mind and soul,
Two sides I like to keep separate.
Here’s the other problem with poetry:
It’s the one thing I truly care about,
Something I never expected.
Brittan began writing poetry in June 2020. She uses poetry as a therapeutic exercise when revisiting homophobic traumatic memories and describing life with BPD & Bipolar 2. She uses poetry as a medium for self-expression when discussing Buddhism, lesbianism, and platonic love.