I was going through old backup CDs on the computer and found a file simply called “08212004.txt”. I don’t remember actually writing the poem but it’s definitely mine. It has no title:
I am a burning force,
an explosion of furious, blinding light.
I am a raging blue firestorm.
I am a cold steel frame.
I cannot see.
I am crusted over.
Hardened. Small. Crunched and cracked.
It’s clear to me now that I was trying to express the two very different, but very real impressions I have of myself. I am very proud, but equally ashamed of myself.
I’m amazing. I’m a fucking badass. I survived cancer, and all the bullshit since then. I have lived life on a razor’s edge. I know way more about life and death than most and I can appreciate life’s beauty in a much deeper way because of that. I’m smart, sarcastic, and kind of a handsome dude, if I do say so.
I’m also skinny, frail, puny, and bent over. I walk awkwardly. I lack coordination and flexibility. I suck.
The trick is to become proud of the physical scars. So far, though, they only repulse me.