stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 21623
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2021-04-26 12:04:04
    [post_date_gmt] => 2021-04-26 12:04:04
    [post_content] => I do not want to be. I am a negative –
if the grey light grazes me, I will bloom

into uselessness, sepia spreading
to my curled edges. I do not want

the light to leak anymore.
I lunge across my lurching floor

and drag down the blinds, then fall
onto my still-made bed; the mattress

bruises. Peacock’s-back-purple spreads
across my tender retinas, ink

on a wet page. On the unfeeling street
a woman shouts and grabs my tongue

and burns. I try and press paracetamol
from the packet, silver foil too silver.

Water tastes rust now; I swallow dry
dust in my throat. I cannot –

I do not want to be. I want to be a negative
hung up in the darkroom, all inverse.
    [post_title] => Migraine
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => migraine
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2021-04-27 12:29:28
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2021-04-27 12:29:28
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => https://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=21623
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2021
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is commended in the Keats challenge (‘The Weariness, the Fever and the Fret’: Writing Illness, Health and John Keats) on Young Poets Network in 2021.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, Keats challenge
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 21230
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Victoria Fletcher
            [slug] => victoria-fletcher
            [content] => Victoria is a top 15 winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2020. She was commended in the Keats challenge on Young Poets Network, part of The Poetry Society's celebrations of Keats's bicentenary in 2021.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 21230
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Victoria Fletcher
    [slug] => victoria-fletcher
    [content] => Victoria is a top 15 winner of the Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award 2020. She was commended in the Keats challenge on Young Poets Network, part of The Poetry Society's celebrations of Keats's bicentenary in 2021.
)

Migraine

Victoria Fletcher

I do not want to be. I am a negative –
if the grey light grazes me, I will bloom

into uselessness, sepia spreading
to my curled edges. I do not want

the light to leak anymore.
I lunge across my lurching floor

and drag down the blinds, then fall
onto my still-made bed; the mattress

bruises. Peacock’s-back-purple spreads
across my tender retinas, ink

on a wet page. On the unfeeling street
a woman shouts and grabs my tongue

and burns. I try and press paracetamol
from the packet, silver foil too silver.

Water tastes rust now; I swallow dry
dust in my throat. I cannot –

I do not want to be. I want to be a negative
hung up in the darkroom, all inverse.