Get Well Soon

I’ve stayed in bed for the past six hours

No motivation, but it’s justified in the name of healing.

Resting in a childhood bed.

It’s a doctor's order or more of a demand in a labeled folder: rest.

Often times, I swim through my mind's eye as a shark. They can’t survive unless they keep moving, and this is how I’ve lived.

But the time comes to reject the survival mode, you know.

And I had clawed at the nursing hands of my mother.

And I had neglected to read the cards that hung, reminding me to get well soon.

I have fought to ignore the warmth extended to me under the belief that it was a mere obligation.

I have come to realize that I grew rigid, believing that I had gone unloved when the real rigidity was the layer I had built up, telling me I didn’t deserve it.

But now I think I’ll rest and be cared for in my childhood room.