The Morning Routine

The Morning Routine

A Poem by CourtniRenee

Here is a pill for your eating disorder. 

It will make you feel like

there are uncaged birds in your chest. 

Fluttering desperately in those 




That you still cling to,

you don’t want

the pill to take them away. 

But the doctor,

but your lover, 

but yourself knows. 

So the birds flutter, 

searching for a sliver of light

an indicator of escape. 

The doctor will call this-


They won’t give you a pill for this. 

It will pass.

Here is a pill for your headaches. 

It will send an invitation,

unknown to you,

for snakes to nest in your palms

and lay eggs in your fingertips.

You will feel them slither and curl 

all night

until you want to peel

back your own skin

and pluck them out again. 


you don’t

Because you no longer feel the tissue

and muscle and the 

matter of you 

leaking from your pores from the pain. 

So you take the pill and 

welcome the snakes. 

Here is a pill for your periods. 

What is the purpose 

of a river if it serves no life? 

You have cut 

out the fertile places and burned

down the holy houses. 

There is no one left

 for the river to flow. 

Congratulations darling, 

you have your wish. 

This body is yours.

 But you will never forget

the feeling of another soul

swimming through your veins. 

Set this on your tongue. 

Let it dissolve slow 

and bitter. 

If you are patient, 

you will no longer feel 

the grip and weight 

of a hollow cradle 

between the bones of your hips.

© 2021 CourtniRenee

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Wow, that last line hits hard. If only our problems could be solved with a little pill. But we know even if the pain of what really afflicts us lingers long enough, it will rarely go away for good. It still lingers in our brains long after.

Nice writing. 100/100

Posted 7 Months Ago

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1 Review
Added on February 7, 2021
Last Updated on February 7, 2021
Tags: Medicine, pills, eating disorders, migraines



Springfield , MO

If I know nothing else, I know that I am myself, and that is enough for me. more..

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