Blowing out her candles,

She looks at me with a smile.

A fellow cancer,

Just like herself.

 

Mother like son they say,

She was born on the last day,

To be a cancer.

However.

 

I was born a Leo,

A strong, hearty lion.

Yet they called me,

Her little Cancer.

 

I walked through the halls,

Eyes glued to thin lines,

That led to the bathroom stalls.

That led to my sanctuary—my escape.

 

Hundreds of mocking doctor's notes,

Fell out of the seams in my bag.

Each one excusing me from class,

So I could cure myself of this cancer.

 

They called me a cancer.

A disease.

I didn’t have an answer,

I just nodded it off.

 

What could I say?

The overwhelming preaching,

Drowned out my voice,

A mute wave—rushing through my lungs.

 

Fire,

Filled my veins.

Ice,

Filled my heart.

 

Well later,

That is.

I laughed at first,

I didn’t hurt at first.

 

As the days,

Months,

Years,

All passed.

 

Each year,

They became more creative.

Chemo pamphlets found their way,

Into my writing prerogative.

 

My writings,

Were stained with heated pills.

My writings,

Were stained with IVs.

 

I kept my head down,

Shading away my eyes.

So they couldn’t see,

How much writing cries.

 

I wrote a story,

Into my paper skin.

Porcelain threads,

Weaved so thin.

 

I was a tapestry,

Of garnered graphite

And redeemed,

Paper shavings.

 

Poetry snaked across,

My purple arms.

They used to be peach,

Till I started taking Chemo.

 

I wrote the cure,

Up and down my body.

Each cure,

Better than the last.

 

They stained me.

They hated me.

I was a Leo,

Converted Cancer.

 

I never chose to change.

I was forced to change.

With a lion’s heart and mighty opinion,

I slowly shrunk into a cornered crab.

 

I was,

An unwanted gene.

I was,

A debilitating mutation.

 

I brought only grief.

I brought only hate.

I brought only fear,

To a Cancer-praising family.

 

They were all Cancers,

Why was I so different?

I was a Leo,

Who was made a Cancer.

 

Yet even then,

I still wasn’t good enough.

I never wanted to be a Cancer,

But they made me a Cancer.

 

Smoke-filled lungs,

Alcohol-filled livers.

I was a coping mechanism,

In itself.

 

I had to clean my locker,

Every morning.

I will admit,

They were persistent.

 

I persistently scrubbed,

At the persistent graffiti.

The persistent word,

That persistently followed me.

 

Cancer.

 

They tortured me,

With hopes of change.

They hated me,

Because I didn’t change.

 

One day,

I looked at my reflection.

Pale eyes,

And Pale face.

 

And I thought…

Maybe I should change.

Maybe I am Cancer.

Maybe I am what they see.

 

I lay in a white bed,

With white sheets.

Surrounded by endless beeping,

And people in white scrubs.

 

I guess you turn,

Into what everyone sees you as.

I guess I became,

The Cancer.

 

I held a rainbow palette,

In my left hand.

Looking at the colors,

With persistently-forced acceptance.

 

I changed,

I altered.

So many hands,

Mangled my clay flesh.

 

I was a failed,

Art project.

An experiment.

A tragedy.

 

They yelled,

They mocked,

They tortured,

All for the purpose of a cure.

 

They wanted me,

To cure myself.

I guess that’s why I’m here,

To get some Chemotherapy.

 

I tried writing Chemo,

On my arms.

I tried to apply Chemo,

Around my neck

 

With no luck.

Maybe.

Just maybe…

If I take a different approach.

 

So I raised the rainbows to my mouth,

Head bent back,

Dropping the endless colors,

Down the dark tunnel.

 

Maybe if I swallowed the Chemo,

Maybe…

Then I’d be appreciated.

Then I’d be loved.

 

So I closed my eyes,

Letting the rainbows take hold.

Waiting patiently till,

I began to slip away…

 

Blurred screaming…

Recurring beeps…

I was cured…

I wasn’t a Cancer anymore…

Now I’ll be loved…

Now I’ll be appreciated…

Now I’ll be…beep...

…beep...beep...beep...

…beep...beep...

…beep...

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