Ode to my Insulin Pump
Every day you are clipped at my waist,
delivering your steady
Forever piercing my skin,
bridging outside to in.
At night you lie beside me on the mattress.
Or on top of me.
Or under me.
Getting dragged and twisted each time I roll,
leaving imprints of yourself on my skin.
Entangling with the sheets,
to tug at the place where
delivered with exacting precision,
keeps me alive at small doses,
would kill me
I hate you.
I hate that I can’t live without you.
I hate how you remind me
of every day
that I am broken beyond repair.
I hate your interminable whisper.
There are times, too frequent to count,
when I want to throw you through a window.
To see you soar into the sky,
trailing your tether.