Settle, Post Hurl

By Adesope Adisa

Post-hurl.

the pause before the next wave of sick

is the bane of my interspiritual existence.

Suspended

between life and death,

between purpose

and my present.

Is there a point to this?

My belief in myself

is inconsistent—

an entity I blame

when things fall apart.

Sometimes I mistake comfort

for invincibility.

Maybe self-reassurance

made me too cocky

to prepare for failure.

I isolate myself

from myself.

Today, I seek comfort

from the internal changes in my body

the cost of glory

in the eyes of others.

is settling the flutters in my stomach.

If they believe in me,

I can’t let them down.

Their expectations

become my fuel.

But today,

I sit by the toilet,

throwing up

every expectation

I’ve swallowed over the years-

begrudgingly,

desperately.

And in the pause.

between retch and breath,

everything feels

pointless.

Useless.

And me, helpless.

Even the rush

loses its comfort

when it leaves…

the wrong way.

By Adesope Adisa