mozart

you’re ill

'it's not your fault'
'you're ill'
but not the kind of ill where you can
eat some soup and
stay in bed for 2 days
not the kind of ill where
your face is flushed or
'you can cook an egg on that forehead'
not the kind of ill where you
need tissues for runny noses
watery eyes and too many sneezes
and you won't need a place to be sick
not the kind of ill where
the symptoms make it easy to diagnose
you can't take 2 paracetamol and
wait 20 minutes to feel normal again

unless you count a few inches of
lacerated skin up an arm or
too many nights with mascara tears on pillows
then there are no signs
no thermometer that measures sadness
nothing to swallow which makes it okay
stupid questions no one would ask for anything else
'why do you think you've got cancer?' or
'don't worry i get meningitis too you're just over reacting'
this is my invisible illness, this
delirious disease only i can see
but it's not my fault sometimes i'm too sad to move
or too angry to talk to you

remember
'i'm ill'

Comments1

  • Syd

    This poem is perfect, and absolutely stunning. I can't tell you how much I relate, thank you for writing this.

    • mozart

      thank you my love ❤️



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