“It’s only a test. It’s only an hour.”

That’s what they say. That’s what they tell me

But no, it’s a clear restraint of my power.

I can’t move; I can’t breathe; I can’t strive to be free.

“It’s only a scanning. It’s only a computer.”

You want to stick me in a tube made of metal.

While the machine whirs around me, a constant persecutor.

With the noise, the jarring noise that tests my mettle.

“Come on, stay still. It will only be a little bit longer.”

I can’t! I need air and I need to reach for the surface.

To jump out, to avoid suffocation and to re-conquer

My life, my Sunday afternoon, my teenage purpose.

I’m 17! I shouldn’t be here. Not here with the elderly and the sick and the unlucky.

Not here with the doctors and the nurses and the technicians.

But. They are only helping, only being orderly

Only here to assist, so why deny them my permission?

I didn’t ask to be here, but here I am, and so I want to get better

And even though the tube made of metal stares at me and glowers

I will smile at my doctors; tell them please and thank you at every encounter

In the end, I will stay, for one more test, for one more hour.