These hands seem so useless,
these steps have no purpose,
this mouth can't even speak,
these arms refuse to hold you.
White plastic clings to her hands,
bathes four walls that swallow its residents.
Breathing sets its own pace.
My blood flows patiently through my veins,
as propping open my eyelids becomes my sole purpose.
There is a comfort in giving in.
Dividing my skin with a brushstroke
only to slowly stitch it back together.
Ribs spread like wings.
An untouched landscape appears in front of her.
The decision of being helpless.
The surgery’s complete, but the results still unknown.
Aching persists though the bruising is gone.
A different pain is still pain.
And sometimes at night I miss the old aches.
Tonight I will hold my breath until I fall asleep
so I can feel the operating table
and believe I’m in the right hands.
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