Poetry by Gabriela García Landa, illustrated by Anita Inispi
There’s a mess inside me.
A funk living in my head.
A virus, and a blessing
prohibiting me from life on earth.
The doctor diagnosed it long ago:
“I’m afraid you have the funk.
Expect insomnia, be prepared for nightmares.
You’ll be moody. Unstable”.
Unstable. Unstable. Unstable.
That word. Like Boom, Boom, Boom.
Pleasure and pain colluding in my ears to make me mad.
Unstable, I thought: It must be like living on a cloud.
It’s hard to stay awake during the day.
Life feels useless and unreal
once they tell you “no way out”.
“There’s no cure, you are doomed,
to be Unstable”.
But since then I feel static,
more stable than ever.
Now I have a word to define me.
I am Unstable.
The girl living on a cloud.