Sick. Sick was what I always was.
What I felt. What I was labeled as. My indentity.
So my body was sick? Sick wasn't my state of mind.
My mind was never more alive. Alive with passion.
Yes I was sick. Sick of never being able to help another soul.
Sick of being treated like I was helpless. Helpless wasn't me.
Alive with passion to help was me. To finally be the healer.
To help those kids like me. To show them they're not alone.
To show them they wouldn't always be sick. They could be the healer.
Always been the sick, now the healed, next the healer.
The healer is the ultimate goal. The epitome of success to me.
The healer. The one I was looked up to.
The healer. The one that fixed me.
The healer. One who turns the broken into the beautiful.
The healer. The one that creates survivors.
The healer. The one I always strive to be.
The healer. Someday will be me.