​ode to a chronic illness

Thank you for all that you have done for me.

i am grateful for the burden of this knowledge you have placed into my hands, it is slick like oil, dripping down to my elbows and coating my very bones with thick grease.

thank you for all that you have done; the diagnosis for things i cannot even dream of changing, not only permanent but unknown, my functionality is a mystery to those who know me too well, now they have the burden of knowledge, cursed with familiarity (please do not feel my dread)

it feels heavy yet not quite solid, like second hand smoke sinking in between my fingers, there are things inside of me that i cannot rip out yet i cut my way towards them, i can’t possiblely explain this to anyone, you must know it, to be sick, to be sick