Sleep
I’ve slept intoxicated in the womb.
I’ve slept in a squat as an infant and a teenager.
I’ve slept in a hostel for battered mothers.
I’ve slept with bruised ribs and bloody lips.
I’ve slept, restless, after finding my mother’s suicide.
I’ve slept in the back of a car and under a caravan.
I’ve slept with split knuckles in a piss-stained alley.
I’ve slept on the steps of a boarded-up house.
I’ve slept with a three-day hunger.
I’ve slept beneath a bridge with a fresh knife wound.
I’ve slept as an alienated teenager in foster care.
I’ve slept in a cell, stinking of cheap weed.
I’ve slept on bare breasts and thighs.
I’ve slept on wet grass.
And one day,
I’ll sleep beneath it.
This poem is from White Knuckle