The tears, the pain, I’m going insane. Pulling tubing out of my stomach and people flinch. I try to be happy but some days I’m just a grinch. Fingers are riddled with holes, look like constellations. People always sayin’ sorry but I’m like,“I don’t need your consolations.” Every night I go to sleep and hope I wake. How much of me is diabetes gonna take?
This is a very moving poem. It is Spot.On.
Thank you for this. A lot of it is just how I feel. I find the title profound.
Holes
That says it.