The ridges in my back twist and knot into each other
Sorrow glaciates down the valley in the middle of my shoulder blades
And spills over into my ribcage
A spasm of heat squeezes my heart, lungs, and spine.
How can I stand tall
How can I sit still
I can only lay myself still, the back of my head heavy against a sinking pillow.
New bumps dance on my skin, a shiver runs down my nerves
I am a chicken with her wings cut off
Playing dead even with a beating heart
Fear cuts my tongue and steals the crow out of my throat
If I had a voice, I wouldn’t know how to scream or what to say
I’ve forgotten how to.
I search for my mind hoping to find queries, opinions, frustrations
But all I find is an echo of silence
Loud and dark and dense
So close it threatens to drown me in itself
But still so tired and distant; its howl like a dying wolf’s
It’s a wounded silence that turns its back towards me and denies me the truth in its eyes
It never allows me to learn the answers it bears
Just like the doctors who don’t know what’s wrong with me.