Poem: Borrowed

I wake up in a body that feels borrowed,  stitched together with fragile thread,  ready to unravel at the seams.  

My joints slip like they’re strangers to each other—  a shoulder pops out when I reach,  a knee buckles when I stand,  

and I’m just left holding myself together  like broken glass,  pretending the pieces still fit together. 

My spine pulls tight,  tension building at the base,  like I’m being torn apart from the inside.  

My neck, so unstable, each movement a gamble,  l feel I might lose my head,  like there’s no strength left to hold me up.

Pain, sharp and burning,  crawls through my nerves like wildfire.  Some days it’s a dull ache,  others, it’s a scream that never quiets.  

I can feel it in my bones,  my skin,  my mind,  this constant reminder — that I’m fighting a war I never signed up for.

paralysis—  it comes without warning.  One minute, I’m walking,  breathing,  existing,  and the next, my legs give out,  my arms go limp,  and I’m left trapped,  helpless in my own skin.  

There’s no telling when it’ll come back—  if it will come back.  

My body holds its secrets close,  I’m never clued in on the plan.

My brain is on fire, flames licking through every thought, a burning haze that clouds my mind,

makes me forget words, forget faces, forget myself. It’s like being here, but not here, present but slipping, and I’m terrified of what I’ll lose next.

Will I wake up tomorrow and not remember how to live in this body?Not remember how to fight?

My heart races when I stand, when I move, when I try to live like nothing’s wrong.

But something’s always wrong. It beats too fast, too hard, too eratically

and I can feel it pounding, like it’s trying to escape, like it knows something I don’t.

The world goes black, everything fades, and I’m gone, my body’s decided it’s had enough, it can’t handle gravity, can’t handle life on its feet.

And when I come back, it’s like rising from a deep, dark sea, gasping for air, wondering how long I’ve been gone. 

Nausea is my constant companion,  stomach twisting,  food turning to lead.  

I’m hungry,  but my body doesn’t know what to do with it.  Every meal is a question,  a roll of the dice—  will I keep it down,  or will it turn on me,  another betrayal in a body full of them?

When I finally eat, there’s the looming threat, the breath that catches in my throat,  the rush of heat,  the swelling fear that something as simple  as a bite, a scent, a touch  

could close my airway,  could turn my body against itself  in an instant.

Fear walks beside me,  a shadow I can’t shake.  It’s in the back of my mind — when I move, when I sleep,  when I dare to dream of a life beyond this one.  

What if today is the day?  What if my body decides to quit?  What if I’m too broken to keep going?

 loneliness—  Because no one sees it,  this constant war I’m waging.  

No one feels the dislocations,  the nerve pain,  the paralysis that comes and goes like a cruel joke.  

They don’t hear the pounding heart,  the fog in my mind,  the nausea that twists me from the inside out.

I’m here, but I’m alone,  fighting battles no one knows exist,  living in a body that looks healthy to the untrained eye, The body that’s become my enemy.  

And every day, I wonder how long I can hold on,  how long I can fight a fight with no end in sight.

-Giusiana