How can you stand before me and complain of lumps formed from penetrating needles?
How can you gloat and brag about having your blood drawn for the first time?
How can you tell me to get over my aching skin and arms?
I know everyone can see them.
The bruises.
The scars.
The bleeding wounds that drip and ooze the liquid I should keep inside me.
Yet, I still can't seem to get over the stab into flesh upon a finger tip.
I really don't know how I still have fringes prints.
How are you able to tell me the callouses on my fingers are disgusting?
How can you say that just because I'm young, means I have no worries?
How can you say that there is no way I am stressed?
I know everyone sees it.
The adhesive still stuck to my skin.
The torn away flag from medical tape.
The weird mechanical machines that have told me how to survive.
The service dog that yelps and whimpers in my ear as I lay slumped and unmoving on the couch.
I just don't understand.
I just don't understand.
Why are people not educated?
Why do kids tear away food from my finger tips?
Why to parents ignore my invitation and toss it into the trash?
Why am I such a burden?
This has been going on for seven years.
Eight in October.
On my sisters birthday.
Wouldn't you think I can take care of myself?
I've done this for years.
I've removed the plastic covering of a needle and injected the sharply scented liquid in place of my pancreas.
I've taken my kidney medicine every day to keep them functioning.
I've taken my water pills to keep my organ's flushed out.
I've stabbed my fingers continuously for a two or three digit number.
I've bled to be normal..
I've cried to smile happily with the others...
I've tried.
I really... really tried.
So why can't I have a chance?...
Just one.
Small.
Tiny...
Little...
Chance....
Please?
I just want to see the warmth of a close friend's grasp.
I just want to feel the radiance of someone's genuine smile.
My back hurts under the stares of pit when I say, "I'll just have a water."
I just want to feel... normal under the weight of my shots.
...Is that too much to ask?...
YOU ARE READING
A Girl's Collection
PoetryThis book isn't a story. This is in fact a collection poems that I have written myself. These are all different pieces that I have created over the course of years and I wanted to share them with you all. Many poems are deep and sad. Making many vie...
