As if the body didn’t have enough foreign invaders to fight off.
I fought for doctors to listen to me.
To believe me.
I’ve tiptoed out of the world.
Lie awake, craving the taste of lakewater and the scent of September rhubarb.
I am a burden with a mouth.
Last night I spoonfed a dying man oatmeal. I sponge bathed him even though he was already clean.
Being sick all the time is some bullshit,
Lemme tell you.
I think I’ve transcended pain flare-ups.
I’ve been husked.
might leave a message.
Your body and mind go through a transitional phase in March.