silent killer

my body is a serial killer
it kills everything i love
my ability to eat oranges, onions, garlic
red meat, shellfish, chocolate pudding, cheese,
whipped cream…

my body is a murderer
it killed my baby, my self-esteem, my shrinking waistline,
my growing sense of confidence, and my ability to
believe everything happens for a reason…

my body is a stranger
with a mind that overthinks, arms that
are weaker than legs, eyes that need glasses,
teeth that needed braces, feet that need orthopedic support…

my body is a terrorist
that rallies against everything, protests loudly in the street,
and tries to blow itself up to prove a point…

my body is a bandage
that wraps itself around me and tries to
protect all its exposed parts, tighter and tighter, to stop
its open wounds from bleeding out…

my body is growing
and skin is rejuvenating around the bullet
hole in my forehead, scabbing over and
hiding the evidence…

my body is my protection from all
the wounds i have sustained and will sustain, it
re-grows and re-shapes, and re-examines itself…

my body is the only barrier i have to everything
i think about, worry about, feel pain about, gossip about,
wonder about…

otherwise, everyone could see, hear, and feel
what i’m really thinking…