When she told me- I didn't know how to respond.
Ask questions. Learn more. Be proactive.
I felt my lips move, speaking, asking, pretending I knew
what I was really saying.
It was as if I didn't want to her to get off the phone.
I was scared.
It was odd that she didn't sound comforting.
Is she delivering a prediction of a death sentence?
What is the proper response to that?
I kept asking her what it all meant.
So vague and indiscernible.
She told me to take care of myself.
I guess I'm not doing that already?
Who do I talk to after this?
I don't want pity or concern.
I just want feeling
like my stomach acid is proceeding
to consume every other internal *****
I could ever muster keeping
to go away.
I know I shouldn't worry.
There are people out there without limbs.
Worrying wallflower.
Worrying won't wish wondering away.
Let me deflect.
I can write about it and pretend
that I never did want to live past ten.