Chronic illness isn’t
Some beautiful
Pale
Girl sitting under a tree,
Book in hand.
It’s no romantic tragedy
Or heartfelt tear-jerker
It’s
Sitting on the floor of your bedroom
2 am
Trying not to cry because
You wanted to be in bed three hours ago
Your body didn’t.
It’s
Obsessively tracking every
Food and drink
Symptom and medication
It’s
Juggling four doctors and work
All at once
It’s
Trying not to *****
Struggling to stand
Fighting
To exist