The Whisper of My Body

I lie awake, longing for the day
When I rise again without delay.
Without the price looming over my head that just won’t go away,
Reminding me what I’m not, every single day.

I’m not strong enough yet, I’m not ready yet—I will break.
But what if I just try? What then?
I ask this body, who has seen unblemished skin become riddled with scars:
Why are you broken? Why are you holding me back?

It only answers in pain and tears.
I’ve been asking these questions for years.
I remember when I felt my first sting of weakness,
Realizing only later that it would continue to increase.

But the pain wasn’t the worst feeling I had to get used to—
It was the judgment from eyes that had never walked in my shoes.
They saw the smile and the canceled plans,
The calling out of work because I couldn’t even walk that day.

Some grew weary, some mocked in jest.
Some left, because they couldn’t see the mess.
The mess that was inside me, tearing me apart—
Never having answers, always being in the dark.

Still, I fought and tried, because I needed my people:
The everyday ones and the ones in the steeple.
Neither stood the test of time; they broke in the undoing of my mind.

Not all was lost, for it guided me to an answer:
The friend I really needed was of my own tether.
My body—that I abandoned in anger and fear—
I stopped listening because I was tired of the tears.

It never answered, so why should I listen?
Then in a soft whisper, it quietly spoke:
You never asked if I was okay; you only ever asked why.

I fell to my knees in silence, my thoughts going up in smoke.
No wonder you’re broken, I breathed out in hushed air—
I was a teenager who had to no longer care.
I couldn’t ask, because then I would feel;
My environment wasn’t safe to heal.

Thank you for speaking up and speaking our truth.
It will never again be me versus you.