At this point, the ground is a close companion.
After countless fainting spells, it’s like hugging
a friend you haven’t seen recently.
My arms don’t work like they used to.
These fingers can’t open jars,
legs wobble under the same
useless weight, or maybe it’s more
without the ability to exercise.
Doctors claim miracle cures.
I call bullshit with lipstick covered pale lips.
Blush covers blotchy cheeks.
Wait. Don’t forget to smile.
Routine is as routine does.
Heart beats faster, faster I tell you.
Don’t slow down. There isn’t time.
No one knows what’s wrong with me.
What if there isn’t time?
We must keep going without haste—
keep up, keep up!
But eventually I crumple like a wilted flower
in this summer heat, nothing but liability.
Jenna Neece works for Oklahoma State University English Department, is an Assistant Director for the OSU Writing Center, an Editorial Assistant for the Cimarron Review, and teaches Freshman Composition at OSU. Recently, Jenna’s poetry has been published in Rising Phoenix Review, Quail Bell Magazine, Eunoia Review, and she has work forthcoming from Monstering.