Survival in 27 Stanzas: A Collage Poem
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I’ve managed to make it to 27 in one piece — somehow. There’ve been many times in the past decade when I didn’t think I’d survive past 25, so being a living member of the 27 club feels like a true act of grace.
I was initially going to post a more listicle-styled piece reflecting on my journey, detailing 27 lessons I’ve learned on the bizarre, often painful, excruciatingly hilarious road to my most recent birthday. However, listicles are no fun to write. Stating the lessons I’ve learned would also be untrue to my lived experience; I’ve really unlearned far more lessons between the ages of 18 and 27 than I’ve learned. I’ve been assured this is a very normal, expected process on the path to maturity, so cheers to unlearning!
I do, however, have a massive backlog of poems on my Notes app I’ve been meaning to share with the world. It’s deeply therapeutic to make collages with words and chop them up into tiny bits and pieces. I’ve done this with college essays (shout out to Professor Thea Gavin!), fridge magnets, and pages ripped out of harlequin romances.
And now, a collage of poems I wrote this year: 27 stanzas on survival.
“27”
Needs-meeter
A joy
Servant of Christ
The first six years, white and flavorless
Floating in and out of college
Lucid intervals of doing doing doing
Collapse and one-hour sleep nights
Becoming an object of satiation
(Swallow mouthfuls of blood to punish)
And my obedience and compliance
Didn’t go rewarded
Navel-gaze nonsense and all
Warrior posing as the chords progress
Poverty and her pills
Hard to swallow
It’s funny how something small like that
Can silence birdsong forever
I’m learning to not exile my flesh
I prefer to stay inside it
Feeling the passage of time
Coloring pictures, playing cards
(Can’t ashawanga and magnesium
Your way out of sliced-up despair)
A gentle voice forgiving me
Keep blood and organs inside
Survival mode
Bring it on
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