I Don’t Know How to Answer

When people ask how I’m doing,
I know they mean well,
but how do you answer,
when you’re walking through hell?

As I lift up my shirt,
gutted like a beast,
my body destroyed,
yet you bid me peace?

A hole in my side,
stabs when I breathe,
stitched to my abs,
infection finds leave.

Just a girl in my thirties,
with a tube hanging low,
can’t decide should I stay,
or is it time now to go?
Exhausted by another,
trial I must face,
nope hope of ‘winning,’
I can’t even race.

Just a mom in my thirties,
with lifetimes untold,
I’ve held too much,
to be this old.

The things that I’ve felt,
and all I have seen,
make me want to vomit,
I’m ripped at the seams.

There aren’t really many,
who can handle the truth, 
but they want to show kindness,
an occasional sleuth,
will slip through the crack,
impenetrable wall,
I need stronger cement,
it’s starting to fall. 

So when you ask how I’m doing,
expect a fine smile,
there’s nothing you can do,
I’ve been here a while,
unless God or the universe,
change now my path,
a chopping block I sit,
His pin cushion for wrath. 


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