Long Days

People say days aren’t long-I beg to differ
I’m waiting for the doctors to see what’s
Wrong with me. Normality? What is that?
Making plans? I have plans for plans. Strict
Schedules and damn, they suck, suck the
Life out of me, for God’s sake, I’m not even
Twenty, and I haven’t lived a single day without
Pills in my pocket and reiterating how ‘ok’ I am

So I take a break but BAM. Another text message
On my phone asking how long I’m going to be,
Funny how I’m always ready to leave but the
Waves of this disease stop me, always stopping me
Red lights exist in my world, I haven’t seen green in years
And orange? Orange taunts me, always ready to switch back
To that infamous bloody colour. I went to one medical professor
And another, and another, and another thing-I used to sing in a

Choir, stand for hours in a church filled only with disbelief that
A ‘saviour’ could do this to me, irony, I can’t even eat the holy
Bread, that made me smile when I hadn’t for a long time, I’ve
Never said half these words out loud cause they get lost in the
Noise of girls talking about makeup and problems, I just felt out of
Place, like my own kind of alien race, wishing I had a plate inside
My chest to hold my heart together, it’s been pretty weathered
Over the years, tears don’t help, that’s one thing I found out and

Now I stock them on a shelf, apart from the rough days when the
Metal contracts and I feel so attacked by my own failure of a body
Heart beats. Lungs breathes. Eyes see. Barely. But that’s normal.
Right? Cinema tonight? Hours of sitting in pain, faking the enjoyment
This bad game. Sleepover? Let me get my pillow and suffocate
Myself first, then maybe I can sleep in the hearse while you play
Reruns of that Beyoncé song you’re so obsessed with and I’ll
Agree with her messages, cause one day I did wake up like this,

Genes, that’s what they say, heredity, live your life normally,
You don’t have to miss out on anything, parties, nights out,
Societies, new friends, but I can’t bring myself to get
Out of this bed. I’m sick, sick of it, sick of the disease, sick of
Breathing in this toxic waste of a life, I’m just waiting, maybe I’ll
Have to go under the knife and they can figure out the jigsaw puzzle
That is my insides, and in the meantime I’ll miss it, the enjoyment of
Living, of exploring, of appreciating, of painting. Of. Not. Being. In. Pain.

White hot pokers in my sides branding me like cattle, blows to the stomach
Like I’ve been tackled by a hundred rugby players, weak knees, dizzily traipsing
Through this house where I learned how to deal with real hurt and desert it
All, the future I had planned, instead I get scans, and beeping of stupid machines,
Of wires and cameras shoved inside me, of biopsies. Just breath. I tell myself
Just wait. Tomorrow is a new day. And I did, since I was first sick. And I did again,
And again, and again and again and again and again and again and again-until it
Became monotonous. And I decided to tap out. How long could I watch everyone

I loved shouting the words to a song in the club while I battled with myself to remain
Above water, stay still, don’t move, you’re here, that’s proof, you’re trying
let the music over take you and it did, for a while, it flooded my head and blasted all of these thoughts away from my mind. Plans? Tomorrow? I’ll see if I can find the energy. I’m like a battery, good for one day only, and then I need to recharge. Dinner? A mistake I know I’ll regret, I don’t
think there’s such thing as food I can digest. Want anything from the store? I can’t.
Road Trip. No thanks. Concert. I’ll stand. Spontaneity! I’ll pass. Coffee? I’m grand. I’m my own
Brand of restriction. Screw the system. The only real defiance left is for them,

My family. My friends. The people in my corner who fight for me, but I
Just can’t fight anymore, it’s all so raw, so sore to the touch, it’s too much
And I let everything down, let everyone down, lower myself to the ground. It’s
Safe in this little hovel I’ve dug, the grave of ambition, of happiness, of love,
The things that I want, all piled up waiting for the day, they’ll happen but they
Have met their expiration dates and spoiled, so I covered them with oil and
Lit a match, like a vigil for myself in a way, there’s only so many times you can
Say tomorrow will be a different day. It’s not. Only a new digit on the calendar

And the moment the clock changes 0.00. It all begins again. The waiting, the
Sickness, the disease never ends. So I do the only thing I can. I pick up a pen and write and
Ease myself into a new reality. One where I can finally be the version of me
I see in my imagination, being driven by hope and fascination, sometimes
She looks out from the mirror at me, tauntingly. Always taunting me.
So hauntingly…


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