The Sick-mess

My attempt at a slam poem, I might need to post a video on youtube and put the link in the description at some point, so I can be assured that it is being heard in the ways that I imagine it.

I am always sick, I call myself the “sick-mess”

But my sickness cannot be coughed away.

My sickness can only sit in the pit of my stomach,

Replacing any food

Any drink

Any nutrient that my body needs but can never deserve.

 

Others should not notice my sickness like a stuffy nose

I make efforts to be sure it doesn’t call attention; I eat my lunch.

And luckily, the class I have afterwards has no rule on bathroom use.

The jokes about me being on my period are easy to take,

Just so long as people don’t catch on.

The reality is that my period is long gone, hormones affected by this disorder

And when they think I’m slipping a pad into my pocket

I’m making sure my pills aren’t going to jangle as I walk

I’m grabbing my medicine

And it makes me feel so much better, I swear.

 

Sometimes, I don’t have the drive to try a few bites of a bagel,

I don’t want to leave my room, let alone go out for fatty fast food with friends

I don’t need to miss patches of notes, I need to miss the whole thing

I don’t need to stick my finger down my throat in a bathroom stall

After checking every other one to be sure nobody will hear

These are the days where the sickness spreads

It goes outward from my stomach into every muscle

Every limb, every finger and toe

It’s a fatigue that binds me to my bed

It’s a gigantic weight on my shoulders that I can’t drop,

Like the pounds that laugh at me from the scale under my feet

It’s a completely different type of pill that I need on those days

But those pills come along with awkward conversations with a shrink

And makes my parents feel entitled to know what I need them for.

 

My lack of eating lets this disease eat me from the inside out

Working first on my stomach, leaving cramps in its wake

It slithers its way through my intestines, making me fat and swollen with bloating

My muscles become weaker; my joints swell, giving me an undesirable figure

My skin is yellow, showing me yet another way my body can be repulsive to me

This sickness makes me bruise easily, causing another ache, another pain

It slips into my bloodstream and from there, it can travel anywhere it wants to

It seeps into my brain, and makes its home there

It makes it its job to create the chemical disposition that adds weight to my eyelids

Weight that I can do nothing but try to starve out of me

Creating a vicious cycle of bulimia and depression, bulimia and depression,

The two dark, heavy shadows over my head, hand in hand,

The sicknesses that cannot be coughed away.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Slow starvation is a bad death. Your description felt real.
"The two dark, heavy shadows over my head, hand in hand,
The sicknesses that cannot be coughed away."
This sickness killed a lot. I like the honest tone and reason for writing. Thank you for sharing the powerful story.
Coyote

[Emma Kirchhoff]

Thank you very much for your review! This sickness is so sad and unfortunate, and it's So terrible how many people it affects. Thank you.

[Coyote Poetry]

More than we know. Some facts are not tracked. The homeless of war and violence lose 1/4 on their journey to safety. A scary world for many.

[Emma Kirchhoff]

Very true, and very scary as well! The world is definitely not a forgiving place for all.

[Emma Kirchhoff]

Very true, and very scary as well! The world is definitely not a forgiving place for all.

[Coyote Poetry]

I agree. It a sad world for many.

[Coyote Poetry]

I pray we spend less on war and more on food, water and medicine.

[Emma Kirchhoff]

I agree with that wholeheartedly. I am against the idea of war myself, and believe that without it, there would be much more money to be put into other worth while causes.

[GrandDystopia]

I'm no expert on poetry but I could feel this poem, this was one of those pieces that I could see and almost smell if that makes sense? The description and choice of words painted a very vivid and disturbing picture of a horrible affliction. Wish I could offer more but I enjoyed the heck out of this.

[Emma Kirchhoff]

Makes plenty of sense to me! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad my words were able to paint a picture. If you have anything you want me to read, send me a request!

[GrandDystopia]

Read whatever you like, word of warning they're all short stories, I'm not much of a poet.

[Emma Kirchhoff]

It's cool, short stories are fun to read!

[GrandDystopia]

Cool and thank you :)

[Robert]

Very good emotional write on this topic, well done. I did read some of the others reviews and I am glad this was just a research project. But that doesn't take away the fact that this problem is out there and some may be going through exactly what you have described. This might bring awareness to a lot of people that need help. A good write Emma.

[Emma Kirchhoff]

Thank you very much for your kind words. I really am hoping that this will do just that! Thanks again!

[Some Kind of Poet]

Such a hard subject to touch on, yet an overlooked subject where people don't believe there's anything going on with the person; as they show know signs of what they're doing - exactly like you've described in this beautiful, tear-filling piece of writing.
If this is you writing from personal experience, my heart aches for you. If, however, it's fiction then I applaud you for writing this. You've touched on this beautifully. Thanks for sharing this with us all.

[Emma Kirchhoff]

Thank you so much for your kind words! It is definitely a topic that is proving to be a silent problem. Thank you for reading it and reviewing it so kindly! This was a research report we had to do this year, so it is fiction.

[Some Kind of Poet]

Well, I hope you got an A+ for this report! & you're more than welcome for the review, I love reading your work!