I was a woman,
I did live a usual life.
Though I may not look like one,
Though I might not look like I have.

I once had strength.
Now, I all but lack it.
The strength to find light in any crevice of my life.
The strength to look ahead,
The strength to walk.
The strength to move my measly legs.

I was a woman.
I did live a fulfilling life.
Though you may not believe me.
Since I can hardly believe myself.

I once had love.
But love has left me now.
I am far too ghastly,
Far too upsetting to look at.
My family has stopped visiting,
They would stare into me—through me—I would stare back.
It would only be a couple seconds until they would begin crying.
Crying, not for me, but because of me.

Because they believed me to be a shell,
A human body, lacking its human soul.
In reality, I only lacked a larynx,
And a few bricks of my brain.

I was a woman, a beautiful one.
And I lived a life, a rather short one.
I accept that.
Accept that I will never be able to live that same way,
To Walk, to speak, to think.
To Love.
And to be loved that same way.

I hold my breath,
And I gaze to the ceiling, in the darkness of my room,
Imagining the white popcorn ceiling, as the night sky
The little white flecks, as the stars.
And the beeping monitor, the chirping of crickets.
As time climbs forward,
the crickets shrink quieter.
And quieter,

Quieter.

Quiet.

-Jaxon Hewitt-Zmich