Well, Sh*t: a true story of Cancer, Prayer, and Emotional Shrapnel

Second Letter to Cancer

You make me sad today, cancer.

I thought we had come to an agreement

that you wouldn't cross this line.

It was like I didn't know you anymore.

I am a long suffering saint of never being sad.

When all is said and done,

you haven't been all that bad.

You took it easy on me.

You may have had some harsh words,

barbed and nettled insults.

Maybe you hit me once or twice,

but I've seen your past girlfriends,

and they have way more scars than me.

I know I'm the lucky one.

But today you made me sad,

you held me back when I wanted more.

It's been awhile since we've had a fight like this.

It was almost like old times

before we came to our understanding.

Let's not go back to way things used to be,

when we were young and stupid.

I thought we agreed to disagree,

and yet the discoloring of a bruise

seeks to make a fool of me.

I've heard about the ones brave enough to leave you.

They call them statistics,

a percentage of women too tired to be brave.

What about those of us who can't leave?

I don't stay because I love you, I stay because I'm stuck.

Is this the life you want?

I would ask you to release me,

but then I'm afraid you're going to kill me.