10 Minutes

I am disappearing into my chest cavity.
I say it feels safe there, but really it just feels lonely.
Lonely is what I think I deserve.
My body is a disaster zone, alarms ringing
Was it five? -No it was six ER visits this year.
I’ve only had surgery once.
This year.
My bracelet reads
NARCOLEPSY/CATAPLEXY
DIABETES TYPE 2
It deadnames me and gives my mother’s cellphone.
I’m too sick to be queer.
At the apex of mind, body, spirit,
My life has narrowed.
Food, sleep, meds.
Queer doesn’t matter if I can’t make myself eat.
For 10 minutes I lay in bed listening to my alarm
Begging my body to move
I would’ve seemed peaceful
Deep asleep
This body that refused to represent who I am, even in waking.
It’s more than disconnect. It’s distrust.
I am disappearing into my chest cavity.
I say it feels safe there, but I really hate it there.
It’s force of habit that leads me down this road.
My body is a war zone,
between what is and what I want it to be.
My rage has not fully quelled, but softened.
I might yet emerge to find myself fully alive.
Queer, even. Queer and Sick.
Mara Passio
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