With an attitude and a pose that drips with defiance
Lupus is the middle school sister of Cancer
Still undeveloped, she folds her arms and rolls her eyes
she scoffs at rules and bullies her classmates
she bears her midriff and decorates herself in the pain of her host
She is not dangerous but a full on threat
She doesn't look up to either of her parents, Life and Death
but lovingly admires her elder sister Cancer
Cancer is dark and gloomy, she is unpredictable and unkind
She laughs at Life and stares knowingly at death
She has decorated herself in the pain of her host, bathes in the tears
of humanity and is tattooed with the certainty of uncertainty
She is beauty and curiosity like her mother, Life
and tragedy and heartbreak like her Father, Death
Oh how, she makes her family dance as she composes her own symphony
She and lupus sway in the genre of Fear
And I am swaying with them

Safely in my womb
Eleven weeks and 6 days
We were never safe

my future misses the memory of people once important to me
those who carelessly threw my carefully given love to the side
those who used me to stand atop so that they would appear greater
those who've gossiped and then begged of my forgiveness
I miss the days of yester year
the routine of being misunderstood
and now I walk in the great unknown feeling mostly alone
with irony seated on my right side and grief upon my left

Was there ever a day when childhood could bloom?
Overalls, converse and a dewy abandoned lot
I wished to be a free child, wild and with whimsy
The sun just below the horizon
the friendliness of darkness pouring in gently
hair that's escaped the braids that couldn't contain it
and the brownness of the earth on my palms
I dreamt of this childhood as I sat mercilessly through church
Contained, silenced and controlled
There was no childhood for me
No freedom, space or whimsy
I never greeted the evening or the friendly dark
and my hair was always bound by rubber bands and barretts
the palms of my hands carried no traces of brown except that of my own skin
And church was simply a prison and my soul began its longing
for the day when childhood could bloom

its not that you don't deserve all of the things that your heart desires
its not that I don't hear the deep longings of your soul
how you wish to frolic through the forest and touch the dampness of autumn
no, my dear, quite the contrary
you are most deserving of all of the deliciousness of life
coziness and comfort shall wrap themselves around your gentle frame
you are deserving of bowls being served into your hands
and loving eyes pouring in your direction
you deserve the sunsets and to greet the friendly darkness
you deserve light, and colors and to have your senses mesmerized
yes, my dear you are so deserving
and it is now safe to indulge

I stress in the silence immediately following the sharing of my great thoughts
When I draw from my collections of truth, interests and opinions
and my conversation-mate grows untrusting, uninterested and argumentative
I suddenly feel frustrated, disconnected and invalidated
It's in the silence that I'm aware of how lonely conversation can feel
Will this lead to heartbreak? Is there a way to protect my heart from what has not happened, may not happen and is just a trigger?

Uncertainty is an open door
Anxiety is the pictures on the hallway
Fear is the exit down the corridor
and courage is the hand that guides me through the entrance