I am not a pin cushion. 

Find somewhere else to let all your needles rest, you don’t need to take any more of my blood. 

A purple, green, and black tie-dye dances on top of my arms as if it is there to stay, your gloved hand rolls up my sleeves to see that there is nowhere for your needle to rest that isn’t already bruised. 

So the needle finds a temporary home in one of my small, hard to find veins, not caring that it’s hurting me. 

The tube fills but you need another, why are you taking so much? 

What’s wrong with me? 

Three different people in white lab coats and blue latex gloves have told me three different things. 

Xrays, MRI’s, blood tests, urine samples. 

I swear if I have to pee in a cup one more time I am going to scream. 

“You have osteoporosis, oh wait, no, I read your scans wrong.” 

“You have osteoarthritis, oh wait well the scans came back clean so that’s not it.” 

“Your SI joints have slipped out of place.” 

No one knows what is wrong with me, just tell me what is wrong with me. 

I don’t want to be in pain anymore, I don’t want to have to take 17 different medications just to take the edge off of the burning pain screaming at me all the time. 

I don’t want to have to take medicine so strong that it knocks me out. 

I don’t want to not be able to go to school because of the searing pain shooting up and down my spine like some sick leapfrog game that won’t stop. 

All your white lab coats and blue latex covered hands don’t know what’s going on, you watch me just sit in pain, unable to move. 

It hurts to move. 

Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s wrong. 

Don’t tell me that again.