I come to you with tales
I can not title.
They press towards my chest
ready for a second when
it feels secure
for them to be let out.
Ache is a language
I discover tough to talk aloud,
and the silence between us
looks like a ready room
that may by no means empty,
urgent in on me,
catching my breath.
Two strangers,
white partitions between us,
your eyes transfer towards the clock,
whereas mine take a look at my folded fingers
resting in my lap.
I ponder
am I only a time slot,
a line on a schedule,
a pulse to be charted,
slightly than an individual to be identified?
I carry issues of the physique and the center
they don’t separate neatly,
they’re fused,
one intertwined with the opposite.
I do know you, too, are human,
shouldering your personal aches
and burdens,
although you by no means say.
However you might be supposed
to be the stronger one,
displaying me the way in which.
Please meet my eyes
lengthy sufficient for the room to cease spinning,
to talk one sentence
that looks like
a hand reaching out to me
as a substitute of ft
midway out the door.
When you present me your humanity
even briefly,
I would disclose to you what’s hidden
the uncooked and ragged factor
that really wants therapeutic.
Belief is just not constructed from minutes and charts
it’s fashioned from moments of recognition
when one individual whispers their fragile fact
and the opposite chooses to hear.
That’s all I ask.
See me.
Not as a chart,
not as information,
however as a frightened soul
hoping to be healed.
Michele Luckenbaugh is a affected person advocate.
