Updated date:

My Words Can't Cure, My Words Can't Do More

A poet of 14 years. Trying to expand into new territory to see if people can be helped by my words. My goal is to impact positively.

''Are you okay?''

''Are you okay?''
A question I wish I never had to ask.
I'm terrified because I'm not sure how long you're going to be alive.
So I'm trying,
As best as I can, to enjoy my time with you.
I wish I could write you a cure.
I wish my words could do more.

I notice when you're despairing.
I can see the stress on your face.
Yet, when you speak
There's so much hope and positive energy behind your words.
You're a fighter.
If only I could fight as well as you have.

Your diabetes,
it's a plague that you carry,
I can't imagine seeing a number and becoming paralyzed by it.
So many needles.
Injections, test strips. Being confined by circumstance.
I wish I could write you a cure.
I wish my words could do more.

when I hear you,
slip into a siezure, and hear your teeth grind,
never knowing whether or not you'll get out.
It scares me, Mommy. It really does.
Your eyes roll back in your skull,
and all I can see is the whites of your eyes
accompanied by your groans that you can't control.
Sharp inhales, shaking limbs.
I wish I could write you a cure
I wish my words could do more.

I don't want you to die.
Not yet. I don't want to think about it.
It's just so hard when I see how much you struggle.
As a bystander. Watching. Waiting for the worst.
I wish my love was enough to heal you, because I can't afford anything else.
I wish I could write you a cure.
I wish my words could do more.

I'm supposed to be strong enough to face the inevitable.
I just can't grasp the idea that you're mortal.
I refuse to. You're greater than that.
Even though you're tired,
and simply existing is becoming more of a hassle than anything else.
You are my mother.
You're not allowed to leave me.
I can't. I won't accept it. I... I can't.
My words can't cure.
My words can't do more.

Related Articles