28 Years

I can’t remember the last time I trusted her.

I have always been angry at her.

I have always abused her.

I have always blamed her.

I have never loved her.

She has taken

beating after beating,

And each day,

she stands up

And she tries again.

For 28 years, my body has tried.

My body has tried

to move me,

to fuel me,

to provide wonder, and pleasure, and exhilaration.

And all I have done in return

is beat her down.

When did I stop looking at her with a sense of awe?

—

Was it that day in the middle school hallway,

by the water fountain

right outside the gym

when a boy called her fat

to make his friends laugh?

Was it when years later,

her ribcage showed,

and she didn’t know why the weight was falling off,

and why her brain was so foggy,

but it didn’t matter much

Because at least she was skinny.

Was it when the doctors

turned her away from the scale,

assuming the weight loss

and fatigue

were of her own doing,

instead of exploring the possibility

that just maybe,

She was telling the truth.

Was it when the diagnosis finally came,

and the treatment worked for a while,

but those symptoms crept back,

time and time again.

When she wanted nothing more

then to escape,

that body turned prison

just to feel a moment of peace.

Was it when he stole her power,

and turned something so lovely

into something so scary

she didn’t know

if she would have the courage

to trust someone like that again?

—

Or was it when she blamed herself for all of it?

Maybe it was her mindset

that let all of these things in,

let them effect her the way they do?

And if she had just been…

better

Maybe she wouldn’t feel this way.

—

I don’t have the answers.

But I wonder if maybe,

She is screaming for help

in the only way she knows how.

So,

I don’t know how to

treat her like a friend

after 28 years

of treating her like

the enemy.

But she deserves it,

after everything

we’ve been through

So, god damnit, I’m gonna try.