Migraines

Split neck th(robbing)
to temples and eyes, pain makes
++++++++++its presence kn(own)
++++++++++once I learn what normal could be.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++I wish I’d feel (screwd)rivers
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++in homemade lobotomies –
frontal lobe
++++s        /        c        r        a        m      /       b       l        e        d.
++++++++++Faces melt into s(wirl)ing
++++++++++messes, hiding truths
++++++++++++++in toxic light. Roots from the Mighty
++++++++++++++Migraine
+++++++++++++++++pull at my skull,
+++++++++++++++++seep th(rough) my vertebrae
+++++++++++++++++tie knots around my stomach,
+++++++++++++++++(wreck)ing plans
+++++++++++++++++and blurring dates –
++++++++++erasing language from my lips.
++++I beg for sleep
++++with (tear)s stabbing splinters
++++++++++++++of color into my superior rectus
++++++++++++++muscle. So tell me again,
++++++++++++++doctors, please,
++++++++++++++how I exaggerated my (head)aches
when migraines sleep
++++++within me.

S Marie Watkins is a poet from Lake Tahoe, California. They hold a BFA in creative writing from Sierra Nevada University and often write about mental health, family trauma, domestic violence, and environmental activism. They have been featured in various journals including The Oakland Arts Review, Frost Meadow Review, and Plants & People: An Anthology of Environmental Artists. They spend their free time wandering the Tahoe National Forest with their seven-pound hell hound, Ladybird. Check out more at https://smwm99.wixsite.com/smariewatkins or on twitter: @smariewatkins; instagram: @s.marie_watkins; and facebook: s.marie_watkins