Where the Pain Used to Be

Dear body,
Here we stand at fourteen years old
Standing is a privilege,
or so the whispers told
When we were little, just barely three,
dreamers chained to a stone cold bed
At night we schemed how to break free

The memories left, they’re faint but pleasent
Our brothers and now our sister,
through hopeful years, are present
Scars slashed our chest, and our inner arms
We wear long sleeves and jewels
Our secret safe, we distract and charm

We try to stand up, but soon trip and fall,
we can’t play for long
“You’d better rest” was a common call
The hands that could write, touch, and dance in the air
became the ones cramped at every moment
I know, it’s not fair
How come my neighbor, my sister, my best friend
They have no imperfection
No break they need to mend

Dear body, can you tell me,
the simple answer I am missing
Is it because I spend my whole life wishing
Wishing to be stronger, I climb each self-doubting hill
I don’t want to be like this any longer
I don’t want to be called “ill”

Dear body, I am praying, with every passing hour
To feel better then yesterday
So in fear I won’t cower

What do you tell me? To look at somebody else
Someone who’s hurting, much more than myself?
The girl who’s still bound to her wheelchair
The little boy yawning
With shaven off hair
The kids that are crying, because they can’t stand tall
At least you have something
Even if you don’t have it all