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  • Writer's pictureThe Channel

Eulogy for the Living

Updated: Mar 10

Words by Indigo Dovi-Dotse

Under clementine skies at sunset, I wonder what love is and if I feel it,

I wonder what it would mean if I don't.

I like to think I loved once.

I had a heart to put on my sleeve and a penchant for honesty and kindness.

Now I look at my face and wonder who he is.

I look at my friends and wonder why I have them and why they want me.

Under lilac coloured skies at dusk, I am laid to rest

but still I’m not dead.


I’ve craved death too much in my life to have it.

No, I merely close my eyes and taste the cold on my skin,

wishing for it to sink deeper until I am enveloped by it

and until I know not the cloistered sensation of warmth,

leaving it to fade, lost forever to memory.

What is it that I'm missing?

Is there something people haven't let me in on yet?

It wouldn’t be the first time.

—I can’t feel anything. Perhaps it's the meds.

But this predates my medication and its steadily increasing dosage.

This goes back to a time where I had my heart….

When it was… There are too many violent words to just pick one.

And I'm tired of listing out the things that have been done to me like putting them to the air will make them dissipate.

I look at myself and wonder, "Why are you so tall?"

"Who gave you permission to be all leg and waist and thigh, drawn like a lustful portrait?"

I don't know.

Permission wasn't sought when I was made.

"Why are you so tall? You needn't be so big."

I don't want me to take up space either

but I do. That's something that must be acceptable and accepted, willingly or not.

"How can you call yourself loveless when you are loved and love makes humans human?"

I feel so alienated by breathing alone that I try to confidently shed my "humanity".

I try every day to pretend like I am not hurt or tired or simply weak, afraid,

I pretend to be just a little odd but otherwise normal like everyone else

But we know it doesn't work.

I lay here, under the same night sky as everyone else,

But unlike those who saw clouds and sunsets,

Who see stars and the halo of the moon,

Beautiful parts of the everyday that will soon be forgotten,

I see the fate I’ve been resigned too:

The fact that another day will come.

Cover Photograph by Megan Carter

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