Pandemic Endorphins
By Caitlin Coey
When you get tired your breathing
gets shallow. The body releases
endorphins to wake itself up,
takes in air, and yawns.
These days I am always trying
to wake up the body,
weights, cacao nibs, stand-up comedy,
calf lifts, standing on tiptoes
like Rose DeWitt Bukater, glittery gold
eyelids like 8th grade graduation,
a dark red lipstick called
Opinionated,
an even darker one called
Everybody Lies.
Instead of courting
the soft texture of a darkened
movie theater, the silence
of snow, 6 pm light after
the panic attack, I take a small blue
pill to increase my serotonin,
immerse myself in voices
like flailing limbs, movies like
an adrenaline shot,
just to feel
my heart.
Caitlin Coey is a queer poet and playwright completing her MFA in Creative Writing at Antioch University Los Angeles. Her full-length plays The Language of this World and Careful Girls have been workshopped in Seattle by Parley Productions. Her writing focuses on gender-based violence, mental health, queer love, and the importance of friendship. Shambles is her first publication.
Shambles 