I grow ice on my back, No choice in the matter. In the summer, When it’s warm And the sunlight covers my skin Like a heated blanket, I don’t notice it. When I walk with friends On sunny days, Our laughs infecting the air, Our smiles filling the empty gaps, It becomes mere water— Just mixing with the sweat Brought on by the bright day. It’s when the winter comes That it becomes noticeable. Like a dagger in my skin, The ice sends strikes of Frustration Up my spine. The cold days Leave for ice to thrive. I try to ignore it, Never asking for help, Never asking if people feel the same, Never asking why I hate myself. Ice is like a virus I will forever have, Enjoying my tainted mind. By the time winter’s halfway through, It has numbed my skin. I no longer feel the pain— No longer frustrated, Just tired. It pins me to my bed, Makes my muscles ache, Makes my mind go silent, Makes my motivation wander away. Just tired. The sun doesn’t reach me In my room. But the bed is warmer than The real world, And my dreams are like A constant summer, One with friends every day. When the days get longer, The sun is out more. The air heats up, Filling my lungs with hope. I cough and sputter at the Feeling of spring Flowing through my veins. The light floods my frozen blood, And my friends’ voices run Like drugs though my body. The thing about the ice I grow on my back Is that I know it will go away. I know life will get better. I know I’ll be happy again, But, just like before, I know it’ll always be there, And winters will never change.
When they see me, Will it be my intelligence Or the color of my skin? The sheer thought that My life could end before It begins scares me, Making me