Punctuation

The Game Telephone

I finally remember
Why maybe I was so impossibly terrible
At the game telephone.

I don't remember
the day I lost that half
Of me

It comes to mind so easily
The time I was told
I was different in such a way

But not
What or how or even
Why

Painful, easy memories
Of hospital gowns and malicious accounts of laying sidelong without a pillow
While the medicine climbed along that passageway, cold and with terribly sounds

It's hard to determine
When it was I came to know the secret to drowning the infections
Rub the tiny bottle between my hands, sit it under my thick thigh.

I will never forget
The day ma and dad fought over
Whose fault it was that I was bloody and pained and under water

Days blur as years move forward,
Tell me...What is it like
To hear every part of the songs you love?

To read motion less and comprehend the sound?
To not fall into a massive jigsaw puzzle in a loud auditorium?
To not have a designated side to walk along with your friends and family?

Tell me, how sweet is it to feel pain when you burn it on your flat iron or curling wand?
How kind is the sound of a whisper without breaking your neck?
How beautiful is a song in stereo?
How easy to follow is a lesson even if the teacher's back is turned?
And to wake to an alarm regardless of what side you rolled over onto in your sleep, how does that harm you?
And to not endure through phantom pains reminding you of everything you can't remember about being balanced in such a delightful way?
To not feel the scar without truly, actually feeling its existence?
To take phone calls people need you to take,
To decipher how loud you are when speaking over that call,
To not grow exhausted from trying your hardest to catch every word exchanged and adulterate none of the meanings,
To not be snuck up on, to fear no danger this way.
To enjoy talking to people you haven't seen in ages while you're miles away from them still.

I cannot fathom a day or a time period when it went away.
I could not pinpoint a junction in my life when I distinctly remember wondering what was so wrong with me that I could not hear an entire half of the world...
Because for a long time, I didn't realize there was another half missing.

People ask me how
and I tell them I remember
not remembering.
I don't remember
what I should remember.

If you don't know me:
Hello,
My name is Molly. People call me Mo a lot.
When I was in fifth grade they told me my left ear was without hearing. I was accustomed by a young age to expect this much from my careful ears. But I never saw myself losing him. Today, after two failed attempts at restoring everything I miss so much...I am still living without more than half of my hearing. There are days like today when I miss my left ear, when I would give anything to feel a burn to my outer ear and hear the other half of an orchestral arrangement through my headphones. There are days like today when I am disgusted by reading lips and finding chaos in the simple sounds of an every day. There are days like today when I want to play telephone

And not have to be the one who ruins the entire message single-handedly.