Favorite Outfit

I have cancer and it sucks.

It’s all I think about all day.

“When will it stop hurting”

“When will I get better”

“Will I ever get better”

eating makes me sick.

All I want to do is wallow in self pity;

concede defeat. 

I want to lie around all day and feel sorry for myself and know I’ll never get better.

the most masochistic part: I don’t want to get better.

This is me, sick and feeble and weak;

This me is all I’ve ever known and it’s eating me alive

and sometimes I hate myself for it but I love the way I wear my sickness - 

it’s my favorite outfit.

I’m dying.

I hate; but all the while: I love

this cancer.

Did I say cancer?

I meant love.