I will make it

Yet another poem I wrote to Lyme (whom I’ve decided to personify for the sake of poetry and emphasis)

“I will make it”

I don’t believe I caught your name
But maybe that’s on purpose.
It leaves you free to justify
your damage, ‘neath my surface.

I don’t believe I caught your name,
but understand, you see,
even without a “My name is”
you’re no stranger to me.

Oh, you may think by hiding out
for days and months and years,
you forced me to find different names and reasons
for my tears.

A pill for this, a shot for that,
but that’s a scary game.
Amidst my drastic efforts to heal,
you waged war, all the same.

I don’t believe I caught your name,
but you don’t have to tell it.
I’ve names enough for you, so bad
Satan himself is jealous.

Regardless of my circumstance,
And my “you-inflicted” pain–
I’ll tell you once, right here and now–
You don’t deserve a name.

A name delegates power, you see,
and that is not okay–
because I know deep in my bones,
you will be gone someday.

You might destroy my body now,
Go ahead, I can take it.
I’ll endure this pain and suffering,
Because guess what–
I will make it.

Copyright Becca Doss 2013