No One’s Coming
I wish that time would stop again.
Lying still in perfect darkness, bundled up in illness and discomfort.
Throat on fire.
This was my happy place.
Meals were brought to me in bed.
School was locked away until a better day.
Life itself stood still as I awaited healing,
A cold drink in my lap, a good book, and warm, familiar darkness.
My mother could stop time
For her sickly little son.
Now, I lie in bed again.
My head still throbs.
My throat still burns.
This time, I’m not at peace.
No cool, sweet drink was made for me.
I have no books I want to read,
But many that I have to.
There are things to do. Assignments. Duties.
Duties that only I must fulfill.
Things that my mother cannot do.
I cannot hide in darkness and ignore incessant day.
I will silence my screaming head.
I will quench my burning throat.
I will move my stiff hand,
Pick up a pen,
No one is coming to do it for me.
Time will not wait for a better day.
And I will not stop for anything.
Not even my sickly little self.