I'll wait for her calls in between shifts at work,
Or in between chapters of textbooks.

I'll wait for her voice to greet me through the static,
Having traveled five thousand kilometres.

It'll be love, it will be quiet,
and every time I see her on the limited rectangle of my screen,
Distance is an illusion.

In time, I will meet her, a roaring aeroplane will tear across the sky,
Over seas and oceans, mountains and wars,
and upon landing, in a timezone far away,
past the corridors and waiting rooms,
amidst throngs of waiting people,
I'll see her and it will be better than a thousand dreams.

I haven't been so sad recently,
which is rare. I had the bad five months last year-
to the point I nearly killed myself.
And now I'm okay, but then it makes me think;
I'm not acting how I should act.
I don't feel like me anymore.
I'm bored,
I don't cry so often,
I feel like I'm wearing new shoes
that are slightly too small, to the point they
rub but don't leave a mark.
I think it's because I got so used to
being let down, that my body automatically
drops me a few stories every couple of weeks.
My eighteenth birthday was bad.
I think I just gave up on birthdays
and to think they used to be my favourite.
Now, I spend my time doing what is asked of me;
go to classes, smile, do work, go home, do homework,
sleep and not dream.
It feels weird.
I don't feel like me;
I want to feel like I'm dying again,
like the world itself is crumbling beneath my feet,
that, if I smile or move a muscle,
my whole being would explode;
shattering thousands with reminders that I was here,
because now I feel empty.
I'd rather feel like death personified
than nothing at all.

the mist from my dope
coping mechanism
tickles my nose and my lips

the corners of my mouth
pulled upward as my eyes
turn to slits

i sink into the couch

cuddle my dog

ahhh, i ******* love this

Through death we learn how precious life is.
We are given the gift of your first and last home.
With the first cut, your struggles, your joys and your scars are all revealed.
And we see you.

We see the physical pieces, tissues and organs that you inhabited.
The lungs that expanded with your first breath and collapsed with your last.
The heart that beat for the first time in synchrony with your mother's.
The womb in which you created life.

But when we see you,
We also find foreigners who took your space for themselves.
The cancers which suffocated and starved you.
Sutures, scars, and remnants of past surgeries intended to extend your life.
Abnormalities and deformities that not only defined your perfect imperfection, your humanness,
But also evicted you from your physical being.

So lucky are we to learn from you.
So indebted are we to you
For your generosity and humility.
Like all great teachers, you have made great sacrifices in the name of education.
And for that we are truly grateful.

While your ears cannot hear our "thank-you"
We know you are listening and watching over us
As we pursue the knowledge and empathy we need
To become great doctors.