Pretty self-explanatory title. Battling agoraphobia and (justified?) paranoia to stay alive and move on when the world wants you to stop. There’s also a tiny reference to onanism and a few mild swearsies.
First, open your eyes.
If you never open your eyes again, you won’t know what you’re missing
and you won’t know what to call out if possible.
Have any medication you require to move on:
water, antidepressants, herbal remedies, a wank.
Get up and, if you can, have a shower.
If you feel Herculean enough, have breakfast and a shower
or shower and a breakfast.
Superheroes prepare an English Full Monty
or, to stay in touch with the times, a Continental.
For basic self-preservation, make a smoothie or chug a yogurt.
You need the fruits to bring back colour to your skin.
Get dressed. Wear something pretty and revealing,
but not revealing enough to attract negative attention.
You want a dress to hug your curves, not hands to suffocate them.
When you feel stronger and ready to fight back, run naked down the road
wearing nothing but a Swiss knife hanging from a necklace.
Put on your makeup.
You may cry while putting on eyeliner.
If that happens, put it on again.
Have makeup remover within your arm’s reach,
and your phone next to it to call 999.
Can you text 999 instead?
Tweet 999 if possible.
Put on some comfy shoes.
Don’t be scared of betraying your gender or lack thereof.
You’re still a woman on trainers.
You’re still a man on stilettos.
You’re still a person on boots.
I recommend boots,
in case you piss yourself and want to avoid soaking your socks in the puddles.
Or, better off, in case your enemies piss themselves
terrified by the fact
that you’re not afraid to leave the house.
(even if you are, they don’t need to know)
Now get your umbrella,
get your sunglasses,
get your keys
and open the door.
Part of the series of the same name. Written and filmed for Pangaea Poetry World Slam. 2016