Napo 8

Today's prompt was to write a poem about changing your mind.

I don't mean to get crazy personal, but in terms of my illness, I feel as though I simply had to make a choice to be healthy or ill, and to wear one of those two labels when I'd get up each morning. Deep down, it was my choice, how I decided to frame myself. Most days, I choose health. Sometimes, that's a hard choice to make.

How I Chose To Get Up Again

I was tired of being sick –

The mind’s stiffness, growing numb,

The glow of the television, the ache

Of muscles that ache to move but can’t

Or won’t, I hadn’t decided yet.

Because the smell of sitting

Became too much. Because I was sick

Of my tangled hair in my face,

Of reaching up for someone else’s hand

To rise, because seasons change,

Because the body wants to, too,

Because flowers bloom and die and bloom again

Because even if I wasn’t ready, life goes on,

Because I’d already exhausted every episode

Of Gordon Ramsey, binged through

The seasons of Orange is the New Black,

the Golden Girls, Frasier, anything

to take my mind off myself. 

Because I was sick of medication,

The habitual swallowing of pills

As natural as breathing, as walking,

The numbness that follows

Of body, of mind. Because the days

Were going to begin and end with

Or without me. Because I had to take

That first step, work through

The pain, either swallow it down

Or let it linger on the tongue,

The choice was mine. I grabbed my cane.

I winced. I stood up on my own two feet

stumbled into the sun.