Kumquat by Alanna King

She said “Just pinch a bit of your belly and inject”
This poison into your veins -
Once a week - 
And it will beat the disease back where it belongs”

You’ll battle that voice in your head 
that wonders:
“Why does feeling better require hurting myself?”

But you’ll find out that pain is relevant to the treatment
The treatment is relevant to the cost
And the care is relevant to no one.

You’ll be left on your own now
To manage or mask as you please.
So before you sneer,
before you say it’s all in my head
know this:
I will not allow you to define me.

You cling like burrs on my socks
You dig in your barbs 
through my yoga,
my kale smoothie
And the lull of my meditation app.

Your judgement cuts - 
The daily grind
The constant gnaw.

Except this -
this one blessed concoction.

I won’t splinter
I won’t crack under your weight,
Even though I can’t stand on one foot,
Can’t dance the way I used to.
It would be easier to rage,
 or dry up -
like a conservative, tight-lipped prune.

But I still think of myself 
As a moist, succulent kumquat -
The one I was before the invasion
A richly rubbed mahogany,
A soothing lullaby
 at the end of the scream.