Never did expect,

for it to give up

but I awoke one morning wishing it were all a dream;

wishing my pancreas would wake up with

Me and realize I still needed it.

But it was never a dream, and

I had to live with the reality of a syringe’s sharp

tongue hissing at me.

I learned

To live with the burdens, now blessings.

Two tasks at a time, I can do

Maybe even three, four, or five

I had to learn.

I am the sugar that runs in my veins,

I am the insulin that squirts out of the thin metal

at the end of a syringe.

I am the drop of blood squeezed out of my finger.

I am the highs,

the four-hundred-sixties.

And I am the lows,

the fifties, fourties, sometimes even thirties.

I am 3 AM sweats and shakes of the blood-thirties,

I am the delicious sweets that give me life,

that keep me from being thrown into

the depths of a coma.

I am Diabetes.

I am perfect, pancreas or none.