We gather around our pain,
and the struggles that we share,
at a table of vulnerability,
wounds aching, hearts bare.
I’m sorry for those who got here late,
and for those who’ve tried before,
but despite it all, we cling to hope,
longing for something more.
I thought I’d feel competitive, and that
it would feed my disease’s fight,
but why would we compete,
to be a winner without light.
Our voices might be different,
but our humanity is not,
I know we struggle with identity as if,
it’s something we forgot.
But I don’t see a diagnosis,
when I look across the table,
instead I see a soldier –
I feel a sense of understanding and
twisted camaraderie that fills the air,
the kind that’s forged in battle against
an enemy that doesn’t play fair.
Your eyes reflect the fear in my own, but
I also sense a courage, that maybe you can’t see,
Yes, there’s pain, but there’s also hope,
and I’m grateful you shared some with me.
Our stories may be different,
but I know not to compare,
as we all try to manage our pain,
on our journey of repair.