I Wasn't Able To Do Track My Senior Year

A lot can happen in a year, 

New places to go, 

Fresh ideas to consider, 

People to meet. 

 

Some moments are filled with joy, 

Others bring heart-ache, 

Most we forget, 

But one I remember vividly. 

 

On February 1st my mother and I were driving home, 

Listening to music, 

Chatting about my sister,

Just like any other day.

 

Then, my chest was burned from the coffee I held, 

Blood filled my mouth, 

My back ached,

It all went silent. 

 

I was stunned, 

Didn't know what to do, 

My mouth tasted of metal, 

and my back felt like it was on fire.

 

My curls clung to my chest saturated with all sorts of liquid, 

As I crawled out of the car to assess the damage, 

There was a dent where the passenger sat, 

There was a huge dent right where I sat. 

 

At the emergency room I got poked and prodded, 

I didn't feel much, emotionally or physically, 

That's when I realized, 

I couldn't feel my left arm. 

 

I wasn't able to do track my senior year,

Nor could I go to watch, 

Either way I was left hurt and alone, 

Unaware of what I had just discovered. 

 

It seemed like a cruel joke,

People telling me I should be grateful I was left mostly unscathed, 

But I've come to realize there are no "should's,"

There is only what is. 

 

I was forced to spend my time differently, 

To acknowledge that my identity is not based on one thing, 

That I am not only "track star,"

And that sometimes, it's okay to not feel happiness at all. 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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