Today, the diagnosis is cancer.
But for you, it’s just another day of being sick.
There have been so many,
one more doesn’t matter.

At least, this label comes with a cure.
While the others,
you’ll continue to carry around,
never got this much attention.

Your mother’s voice has a tremble,
as she asks the doctor her questions.
Your father sits silent,
trying to hide his anxiety with stillness.

All you friends rally around,
and you’re glad that they’re here,
but you also can’t help wondering,
where they have all been the last few years.

No one noticed when you were diagnosed with Lyme.
No one came when you had your psychotic break.
All this time, you’ve struggled being sick,
everyone else was busy pretending nothing was wrong.

They try to protect you,
like you are made from glass.
If they only knew,
the armor your illness gave you.

I wish they could have seen
the way you faced your fear of loosing your ego
the way that you held your head high
while you fought with delusional demons

Then they would know
that this cancer cannot scare you
that this cancer isn’t the worst you’ve faced
and you’ve always made it through

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