Color Me Blue

Lazy, fat, gross

Labels placed onto my forehead by something not controlled by my hands

A fat sloppy stick of charcoal supplied by society scribbles the word onto my skin

Diabetic

It doesn’t matter which type I have because they’re one in the same for the lucky

The clueless and happy skip through life without knowing the pain and insecurities I nurse

Not managing the times, the carbs, the shots, the refills, the fear of running out of my meds

I’m fine.

I stick my finger tips as onlookers gawk

There’s something twisted about it

Both how unnerved my needle makes them

And the fact that it’s my job to comfort them for my disability

Don’t worry, It’s just my pain, you’ll forget in an hour.

A Blue circle is the symbol for my infliction

and I wear it proudly

On my belt is my medicine, dripping constantly into my side

It bothers me not to take this inconvenience

comparatively to dying like a sickly baby bird pushed from the nest

Doctors would enforce a nightly midnight blood-sugar check

to make sure that I’m not dead

or about to be.

My parents would take turns climbing through the wardrobe into my shadowy world

It’s unfathomable to me still now

How a parent can live day by day with the fear

of their child

of Me

slipping away some cool dark night into the untouchable abyss of the dead

The respect for my parents grew from a seed

of trust that they’ll keep me alive no matter what

Deeply rooted in my soul as older I grow is the reflection of what I would’ve done if I weren’t the patient, but the parent

in their shoes.

And I realize it’s not something I would’ve been able to

And so here I am

Living and grateful

Wearing blue