DoleĊ
Pain is a part of me as much as writing is a part of me
Sometimes it’s bloating and unbearable,
Though at times it is quite manageable.
Migraines come and go like the jasmines in my garden.
Summer intensifies and
Winter harbours grudges.
Blame it on the rectified cervical lordosis
Blame it on my insomnia
Blame it on you, on me, on them
On them, on me, on you.
Psychosomatic disorders
you name them.
I know the Rorschach by heart
and the inkblots dye my mind.
Imagination’s running wild
as the oil spills on the butterflies.
Not a penguin, but a butterfly
Not a penguin, but a butterfly.
Haunting crows circle
my sheets, an orgy of feathers
and cawing at midnight.
They tear my limbs apart
My intestines open
My aorta bleeding poppies in July.
I do not see myself as fat
I am not overweight
It’s the eating that I dread
For food makes me gag
I cannot seem to hold it.
Body rejects what mind decides is past.
Bags have transmuted from a grayish green to black
People seem to stare at me
As if I were a terminal patient
There’s nothing terminal in me
My conditions are chronic
They let me rest
They let me have my days
And then the cycle starts
Again and again and again.
An episode here and there
When life’s good it’s every four months
Otherwise it’s every month
A cramp
A shock
A needle stuck into my neck
A syringe plunged into my back.
It’s dying and resurrecting every time
Every four months, lucky me.
Doctors say it’s in my mind
Shrinks say it’s in my blood
Daddy says it’s on his family’s side
Mother says just stop the nonsense
You’re fine.
Thank you for your insights
But the pain is still concrete
I can touch it
I can grab it
I can chew it
Feel it twisting me
From the inside out
A thousand claws
Toying with my insides.
Feasting over me.
A common depersonalization,
fear of a heart attack,
a nervous breakdown.
The acute onset
cradles me to sleep.
I am one with the attack,
a sisterly feeling
of impending death;
Pain is a part of me as much as writing is a part of me.
I know the Rorschach by heart
and the inkblots dye my mind.
- Juan Pablo Duboue 2014
Juan Pablo Duboue was born in Mendoza, Argentina in 1986. Currently pursuing a masters in Contemporary English Literature, he works as a teacher, interpreter and translator. Apart from writing poetry and short stories, Juan Pablo is also a singer and a ballet dancer.
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