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.
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