These Days [a poem]
These days… sleep slips through my fingers. Muscle aches feel as constant as the breath in my lungs. I still catch glimpses of a stranger in the mirror—shorter hair now, a harsh reminder of the prayers I whispered just to keep it.
These days… exhaustion feels like my baseline. My skin is dry, tight, and uncomfortable, making even rest feel like a chore. I see sickness staring back at me—dark, heavy circles framing eyes that barely recognize themselves.
These days… bloody noses strike without warning, often waking me in the middle of the night, leaving me scrambling and weary before the day even begins.
These days… I make it through each day, just barely, only to wonder how I’ll possibly do it all again tomorrow.
These days… I’m a cancer patient, an overstimulated mother, a wife trying desperately to be present, and an employee giving everything I have left to work. I fear something—someone—will slip through the cracks. Not because I don’t care, but because I am so, so tired.
These days… all I want is to rest, to nap, to wake up and discover this was all just a terrible dream. But life keeps moving, fast and unforgiving, and I’m doing my best to keep pace, even as it pulls away from me.
