The Space Between Pain And Healing, I'm Still Here, Sickness Poem

The Space Between Pain And Healing

After an operation, what was supposed to be two weeks of extreme pain has stretched into seven, and it still remains. I feel pressured to be healed, to be back to normal but I'm not. Somewhere, I lost who I used to be. The pain pulled me into a deep depression, changing me in ways I never expected. Every day is a fight to find myself again. My husband, "Sir," carried me through it, steady and strong but in the middle of it, I began to disappear, and at times, he did too.

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I'm Still Here

Published by Family Friend Poems April 9, 2026 with permission of the Author.

To death, to death, they say.
To the noose, to the noose.
Two weeks...
Two weeks.
Two months...
Two months--
You weak old slut.

"You change; you change."
I did. I swear.
"To the noose with you."
A plague--that's all you are to me.

But sir, but sir
I worship, I pray.
The gods below and above hear nothing.
I beg the wind--my words don't carry.
I beg the rain--my tears won't fall.
I weep to the moon--no echo returns.
I call to the sun--it burns and turns away.
I scream to the earth--it does not shake,
does not shake.

I stumble where your hands once guided me.

"Faster, faster.
Be whole again."
I am stitched in silent pain
you try to brush aside.
I try to rise. I try to stand.
I try--
and lose myself again.

Who am I now?
I'm not me anymore.
Just a stitch of the woman
from two months before.

I knock at a door.
I see her through the keyhole.
She shines, she shines.
She's happy, she's happy.
She's me--
I'm her.

I reach for the door--
my hands fall through.
The lock clicks shut.
No one hears me.

She shines, she shines.
I fade, I fade.

I knock, I knock--
no answer.

Two weeks...
Two months...
To death...
To death.

I fade--
I fade--

I flicker, I flicker.
A thread pulls tight,
stitching me together again.

I knock.
You hear it.

I'm here.
I'm still here.