Poetry and All Things Alike

2016-17

So here it is:

It's 3 am and I should probably be writing that essay

or doing the Spanish homework that's due tomorrow

But here I am,

writing a stupid poem

because I've just run out of pain killers and spent the last hour staring down at the bottom of the plastic bottle

Imagining that the oval shaped blue and red capsules of acetaminophen are still there,

jingling at the bottom.

There was a person I used to be, not long ago, sometime last year,

that was smarter than me.

She lived in my skin.

But this year whenever I look at numbers

the 3s turn to 8s, the 5s turn to 7s, the 4s and 0s turn to 9s,

and whenever I am met with a passage from Newsela, the words scramble together

and my legs won't sit still.

Every time I go to the doctors I think

'This is the visit. This is the one that will change me. After today they will know why I'm different and I'll be okay.'

But it never happens.

Every visit just brings me further and further from an answer,

or pushes another obstacle in front of me.

After everything has gone wrong this year, I just keep wishing

wishing

wishing,

that at 3 am,

I could be fast asleep in bed,

not being kept awake by the migraine,

that is reminding me of the failure this year has destined me to be.