My back shouldn’t ache at this age;
neither should my wrists or
neck or knees.
Or heart.
Nothing should ache.
Life should be blissful
and all pain should be transient.
But it’s not.
And I can’t complain because someone
will point out that something is wrong with me
and the only thing worse than the
crippling pain in my body
is my crippling fear of anyone in the medical profession.
So I push it to the back of my mind;
forget the pain—
melt it with a pill,
distract myself,
forget that I’m more broken than I should be.