It doesn’t take much to knock a bruised fruit to the floor
watch it split apart like rotted glass, shards of damp skin in slow motion
try as I might, I AM that bruised fruit
try as I might, I cannot seem to recover myself back to where
once took for granted, the feeling of wellness
it doesn’t help when someone you loved abandons you
in the middle of your darkest hour
things like that aren’t supposed to happen
people who swear allegiance and loyalty aren’t meant to
be the ones leaving your side
such is the hour and fickle fan of illnesses devour
at least I know I’d never treat someone, that poorly
despite this and because of it, healing is slower
though I suspect anything less than fire would be
I didn’t know these things beforehand
the un-annointed do not possess future perspective
to see how illness strips your childish faith, cleaves you
bare and gasping
where family didn’t need to see me, even as I spent weeks in hospitals
it cut me to the quick, but it wasn’t the first or the last
maybe preparing the groundwork for your deepest cut
they say you get used to it in time
I never have
just as I never have truly understood the cruelty within some, who profess so hard to love
now, I am a changed person
I cannot make plans like I used to, thwarted by my body, haunted by ghosts
my illness is like a cobra, she stays quietly in the leaves
rearing up when I least expect or when I want most to escape
her possession of me, the way she knows how to tickle fear
with just enough venom until I am on my knees
I am sure some would say, this is therefore; psychosomatic
that it what they tell all women of hysterical turn
I saw in your eyes when I told the horror; your own disbelief
until doctors produced the proof, you still wondered
it became apparent to me, just like with sexual assault
being believed is paramount to recovery
alongside having faith in ourselves
I did not do a good job of the latter
finding myself more alone than when I started
and I thought I started pretty alone
I know I am a survivor and I was not destroyed
yet it feels like I was
when I look inside myself and find
so little left, a house without windows
it was only because of you, I kept trying
I told you that, I said, you were holding me up
when you let go
I fell to a place I did not know existed
I wanted to ask; Couldn’t you have just waited
long enough to see me through the worst?
but you wait for nothing except your own need
I had to find a way to stand even as everything crumbled around me
which is the biggest test I ever had and I failed it
I failed it again and again
walking through the lullaby of desiring to die for so many reasons
not least, the never-ending dance with sickness and pain
but somehow I did not die, I turned instead to stone
when people say I am strong now and ask; How did you get through it?
I don’t tell them; I am not through it
I still lurch and shake in the throes of unnamed demons and at night
I feel like an arythmic god has taken me and is spinning me
on high-speed like all my parts are made of jello
I want to ask that god; what is it you are trying to shake loose?
surely you know by now there is no more fruit left
not even the rotten kind
that fell and split and sunk into earth, a long, long time ago
it is only me remaining now; leafless, without sturdy branches
I cannot rely upon myself, I cannot rely upon promises
no longer a young, untouched tree with green shoots
I am damaged, broken and hobbled, by this specter and the unknown
as much as by those I knew and trusted
asking why to the imploring void; why are we stricken down?
to what do I owe my continuing? Even as it is, insubstantial
can they see in my eyes, when I pretend, I am trying not to gag?
my appetite spirited away by the scourge and never returned
I would die of hunger and not know it
were it not for some strange determination
I don’t know where that comes from
but as I stand, it must be a place within me
does not give up, as she did not, all those years ago when
the flames licked the top of my house and burned, everything I knew to cinder
I am not like the rest of the world; stronger for my poison
nor am I able to disguise my scars
if I were asked what recommended me; I could not answer
I would probably open my mouth and howl
because you can reinvent yourself, a million times it seems
I am just one incarnation, coming apart at badly mended edges
you, who are able to vault life in gentle sprint, must mock
I am after all, just a fallen fruit, lasting as long as she can
in imperfect, bruised skin
TheFeatheredSleep 