Childhood Never Claimed Me as its Own

The earliest memory someone has should not be

the burning scent of hospital antiseptic

mixed with oxygen coming through nasal cannulas.

Should not be of crying out in pain

waking from anesthesia with medical grade pins drilled into your bones.

The should not be’s are my already happened’s.

It is hard to find the moment you realize you are not a kid anymore

When you never felt like one.

               I needed to claim my own kind of childhood:

Playing games with nurses and eating ice chips instead of real food

because it would have been too much work.

Mastering the art of hospital television remotes and the perfect placement of the bed-

Too be simultaneously comfortable and not folded like a taco.

Realizing I was not a kid anymore was the day I realized

my childhood did not match that of others.


This poem is about: 


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