the letters keep coming

in the midst of it

of disease and sickness i struggle

struggle to pull myself out of bed start the

conversation about the bills during the conversation about the bodies during the

long talk about what it means the pale faces are saying it’s important that they say they can’t relate i spend a day in bed and waste thousands 

i’ve heard that wasting money happens the second you pay it doesn’t really matter if you eat the food or read the books do you remember when we saw mouths and smiled at each other i don’t remember the weight of a forced smile

in the midst of panic and death and sorrow i worry about the bills and myself and the man and the woman undress unwrap i am a doll with limited replies my parents have made a yes please no thank you machine am i really pretty or just the standard for it it’s not enough to pay the bill i worry about finding out how in the midst of laying in the dark flipping a coin for a predetermined wrong answer i sit across from someone who knows how to get better how to fix what’s behind the mask i don’t know where to start but need the pills the shot the metal instrument to prevent creating more high yellow sorry machines the pills they prescribe do i need a prescription i can’t pay the bill the pale face man has the answer i think i have to make an appointment for him to say he can’t relate but he understands 

in the midst of the end of the world i worry about the words the time the boy always the boy and the bills and the headache and the teary eyes and the class and the thousands and thousands of dollars it takes to climb higher and higher to a place that doesn’t want you

This poem is about: 
Me
My country
Our world

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