Sick

I am not sick.

Scratchy throat.

Mucus overflowing.

Congested eyes.

Kleenex empty.

Orange juice overdose.

All a mere coincidence

Because

I am not sick.

Why do I not want to be “sick”?

Because to be sick

would mean to take

medicine

to a take a tablet that says

condescendingly with little blue face:

“There is something wrong with you;

you need to be fixed.”

The shame of feeling wrong

Being incomplete

Not 100%

The stigma of not being all put together

The pity eyes that say

“Hope you feel better soon”

I am not sick

Because I don’t want to be vulnerable.

I don’t want to be weak

Not strong enough

For the callings of day-to-day existence

When millions of others

Handle same situations

Just fine

But I cannot.

And that brings me shame.

I am not sick.

I don’t want to be sick.

I can’t be sick.

And because I refuse to take on the sickness

Confess the ill

Own the weakness

Admit my lacking

I will not be healed.