I’ve been focusing on including poetry in my classroom this term, as a different way of approaching texts and understanding concepts, themes, and issues. It’s been working well for my students, so I thought why not give it a try? They’ll write poems about the issues stemming from Hamlet, I’ll write one about the issues stemming from the syringe in my handbag.
If you’re up for an angst-laden poem, read on my friend.
Stinging, Dripping, Living
Safe, secure; unpredictable, dangerous
Diving, Rising, Guessing
This liquid gold turns to golden fat
A lifesaver turned to a life not worth living
A life lived in the mould of ‘perfection’
There’s only so much perfection that fits before
You start to slice off the parts that you can’t hide.
Guilt permeates me to the core.
I am lucky. I am blessed. I am insulin.
“Think of those less fortunate”
A faceless peer kilometres away does not take away the fear of
Living in a body too big to accept.
There is no one type of Type 1
I am my type.
My type is vulnerable.
Vulnerable to the whims of my blood
Vulnerable to the judgements of others
My type is fragile
My type slowly builds a wall
Of fat to keep out the looks and flood
Of concern – “It’s not about fat, you’ll feel better”
Better? What is better?
Does my mind not rate a mention
While my thighs rub red and raw?
Does my smile go unnoticed
If my belly dares to escape?
Does laughter seem irrelevant
When my arms wobble as I grab my sides in joy?