Sweet Sixteen Meets Synovial Sarcoma

It was unexpected

‘cause I was just a kid.

Bike rides and doodles

of a man-eating squid.

 

Those pretty days were spent

on the lawn of my school,

laughing and gasping

and we thought we were cool.

 

But it came in the spring,

a small knot on my knee

and the doctor said,

“Oh, it’s nothing, honey.”

 

So I went on laughing

and I tried to ignore.

But something was wrong

and it felt kind of sore…

 

At sixteen I found out

that I might be dead soon.

Life is not certain

like each phase of the moon.

 

Sometimes it’ll punch you

hard, right square in the jaw.

You have to decide

to hit back or withdraw.

 

So I fought just as hard

as you would expect.

Needles and chemo

in my veins, would collect.

 

After a year of Hell,

we can see who still stands.

Though bald, pale, and weak

you’d find strength in my hands.

 

For those hands had been held,

tight by stronger ones, still.

My mother’s small wrists

and her rock solid will.

 

My dad’s tranquil defense

and his loving support.

Even the doldrums

became a game, a sport.

 

Finding some small pleasure,

or a glimmer of hope,

in the darkest time

is the best way to cope.

 

I am flawless because

life sculpted me that way.

My parents, the hands

that have molded the clay.

 

With a scar down my leg,

another on my chest,

I walk tall because

I know that I am blessed.

 

Blessed by my good parents

who stuck it out, as well.

Blessed by this new life

without one cancer cell.

 

So, in turn, I will try

to share this blessing and

instill flawless strength

with just a careful hand.

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