February 19, 2013
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.
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,
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.
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This poem reflects my acceptance of diabetes as a part of my life after about two years of being diagnosed.