Maybe if I look sick enough, someone will tell me to sit down...
Maybe they'll make me dinner after my shift, instead of asking what's for dinner.
Maybe they'll tuck a blanket around my shoulders instead of handing me another responsibility.
Maybe they'll stop saying,
"You'll be okay."
Maybe they'll finally believe me when I say I'm exhausted.
Because somehow, tired wasn't enough.
Hurt wasn't enough.
Crying wasn't enough.
My pain had to become visible.
It had to settle into my bones,
show up in my face,
and hang from my clothes
Because apparently if I looked okay, I must be okay.
That pain didn't count unless it showed up
on my body.
