Arden Hunter
Sometimes I shake in the mornings
sometimes i shake in the mornings / i trained myself not to stretch / if i do then my muscles cramp in hard pulses / it used to hurt so much that i was already afraid before i even woke up / the glow through my eyelids was the signal for my stomach to clench / the bit of me still sleeping getting scared in preparation / hating the sun and the morning and everything involved with the transition from auto to manual
i started stretching inwards / coiling up in a spiral / directing all that need to stretch and remind myself i’m not dead back inside / my marrow hears it instead of the air
a by-product of losing the stretch / i lost the sound along with it / i lost the screaming and the yawning left with it and i wouldn’t mind except yawning seems to be one of those fundamental things humans do so if my body doesn’t yawn so as to protect itself from the fear of waking then what does that say about me / maybe nothing
it’s so tiring to wake up afraid / my heart pounding / waiting for pain / i don’t get used to it / it hurts just as much as it always did / and once the pain fades and the muscles stop jumping and my brain stops screaming at me that if i could only uncurl and rip off that piece of my foot / calf / hip / arm that everything would be OK / but i can’t uncurl because the pain is electric it erases all the paths from my ME to my limbs and i’m trapped in a prison of agony / wanting to scream but not wanting to because then people will hear me and they can’t do anything and that seems mean really / come on don’t wake up nice people with your dramatic morning death wails / once all that is over i’m exhausted but it’s not time to sleep now it’s time to wake up / beep beep there’s the alarm i didn’t switch off / beep beep come on time for work
so sometimes i shake in the mornings / muscles twitching / threatening to cramp / hands scratch without instruction at the sheets / convulsing / a split second of wondering if this time i’ll convulse forever / but then it goes away / and i get up
i started stretching inwards / coiling up in a spiral / directing all that need to stretch and remind myself i’m not dead back inside / my marrow hears it instead of the air
a by-product of losing the stretch / i lost the sound along with it / i lost the screaming and the yawning left with it and i wouldn’t mind except yawning seems to be one of those fundamental things humans do so if my body doesn’t yawn so as to protect itself from the fear of waking then what does that say about me / maybe nothing
it’s so tiring to wake up afraid / my heart pounding / waiting for pain / i don’t get used to it / it hurts just as much as it always did / and once the pain fades and the muscles stop jumping and my brain stops screaming at me that if i could only uncurl and rip off that piece of my foot / calf / hip / arm that everything would be OK / but i can’t uncurl because the pain is electric it erases all the paths from my ME to my limbs and i’m trapped in a prison of agony / wanting to scream but not wanting to because then people will hear me and they can’t do anything and that seems mean really / come on don’t wake up nice people with your dramatic morning death wails / once all that is over i’m exhausted but it’s not time to sleep now it’s time to wake up / beep beep there’s the alarm i didn’t switch off / beep beep come on time for work
so sometimes i shake in the mornings / muscles twitching / threatening to cramp / hands scratch without instruction at the sheets / convulsing / a split second of wondering if this time i’ll convulse forever / but then it goes away / and i get up
Biography
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Arden Hunter is an aroace agender writer, artist and performer. With an eclectic range of interests from the horrific to the whimsical, the theme tying all of their work together is an inexplicable and unconditional love of the ridiculous beast that is called 'human'. Arden has words and art hosted and upcoming with Thi Wurd, Acid Bath Publishing, and Outcast Press among other places. Find them on Twitter @hunterarden and at ardenhunter.com.
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