Things I Shouldn’t Have Known

I shouldn’t have known

how to draw a needle,

flick twice so the air bubbles pop.



I shouldn’t have known

the number of carbohydrates

in a piece of bread

or how to count them in my meals,

while staring at my lunch tray.


I shouldn’t have known

how to log my daily numbers,

immediately when I got off the bus,

and walked inside my house;

columns and rows filled with numbers

in a folder with my name on it,

it was the first thing I did.


I shouldn’t have known

the difference between hyper and hypo

and how to treat when they occurred.

Didn’t matter if I was in class,

I always had my emergency dollar

and special access to the teacher’s lounge.


I shouldn’t have known

what if felt like to be low

and seize during my sleep

and wake up confused and scared,

with parents forcing me to eat,

and sometimes me fighting back.


I¬†shouldn’t have known

what my older sister looked like

when she did the same.


I shouldn’t have known

how it felt to be high,

head pounding and sick to my stomach,

and having to to pretend

that everything was fine,

because it wasn’t a sickness you could

explain, not at twelve years old.


I shouldn’t have known

how to pour a giant glass

of whatever had the most sugar,

and that I needed to chug it

in order to gain strength to

take care of myself

when I was alone.


I shouldn’t have known

how to prick my finger,

change the lancet each time,

and not be afraid of blood,

because I bled six times a day.


I shouldn’t have known

the exact pain of the pinch of a needle,

and how they felt every three months,

me requesting a butterfly needle each time

and knowing how much blood

filled up three vials.


I shouldn’t have known

what it sounded like when my mom cried

and blamed herself for someting

she couldn’t control.


I shouldn’t have known

that I was different,

and that I had rules to keep myself alive

at all times.


But I did know,

as a child,

sitting in a classroom of normal kids,

and wondering if they understood

anything that I did. Probably not.


I am diabetic,

and I know things I shouldn’t know.


Dancing In The Sun

A tunnel of tree branches,
A spotlight orange;
A glow that takes away all impurities
on your skin and in your heart.
The pure joy gained from a simple leak
of color on our bodies;
A light given to us from the sky,
or perhaps something else…
How time stands still
when you’re standing there
soaking the moment in.
It’s the little things,
That take away your worries and fears,
Like dancing in the sun with your best friend
The moment before it disappears.

He loves me.

Into the river beneath the bridge floated the flower petals. “He loves me, he loves me not,” she repeated, picking at the wild daisies growing on the grass. She spent many hours sitting on the river’s edge, tossing in flowers ripped apart by her own anxiety. Okay, so maybe these flowers cannot actually predict the future, but she couldn’t help but smile every time it ended on “he loves me.”

He told me I was the sun. I only later realized he was the moon.

Yes, the moon is full. Look at it, do you see it? It’s large, the biggest it’s been all year! Look at how it fills the sky. It’s so bright; barely any stars can be seen. How selfish, the moon. Do you ever wonder how the Sun suffers? While the moon looks so beautiful, it’s all a lie. All that glow, that illumination–a lie. It isn’t real, no. It’s borrowed-nay, stolen.

Funny, isn’t it?

The moon steals the sun’s light and you stole mine.