It's Me

By Lucinda Ramos

It's me.

I am the one.

The one who has the problem.

A blanket of sickness has covered me.

The heaviness in my chest weighs down my heart.  Labored beats booming like thunder in my ears.  Echoing "it's not
you".  Could it still keep beating knowing?

It's me.

I am the one causing the problems.

The tightening in my chest squeezes my lungs.  Breaths so shallow that only a whisper is allowed to escape pleading "it's not
you".  Would it continue breathing knowing what I know?

It's me.

My chin quivers with emotion so strong that I cannot speak.  Dumb struck with sadness, fear and frustration.  Could this work?
Should I not speak, only then would the problem be fixed?

My head hurts with such pain that my brain cannot think.  Thoughts bouncing off the walls scattering about incomplete,
struggling to say "it's not you".  Should it still keep thinking knowing what I know?

It's me.

My neck feels so heavy.  So frail that the wind could snap it off.  Should it just lay down not moving till forever comes knowing
what I know?

My arms and hands feel so cold that I feel chills in my bones.  My arms clasp around myself for warmth, consoling,
caressingly saying "it's not you".  Could they still hold me together knowing what I know?

My legs feel so heavy that to move feels like a thousand hands are holding, gripping and pulling me back to the same place.
Could they run, if I needed to, knowing what I know?

It's me.

I close my eyes, gently rest my head on a pillow, and dream.

It's me.

I am the problem.

Do I continue to exist knowing that I am?

My whispering, breathless thoughts gently tell me to hold on.

We hear you.

Your heart, body and soul.

Do not blame you.

Listen.

We exist.