a mom once told me that she is the face of diabetes
her child, needing needles and blood draws
woken from slumber
by a mother who loves her
wanting only survival one more night, she tries
type three transitions

her child grows into a young girl and sees diabetes as a monster within her
scratching for attention
in the dark behind that closet door it’s been forced into
stuck between boxes under her bed with old costumes
and secret journals
kept hidden from years of effort and failure
its hard

her young girl grows into a teen and sees diabetes as a monster within her
self,
begging for attention
like a boyfriend that wont stop calling
like a fly that won’t stop flying
she tries to control it
she tries to mask it
she tries
it’s hard

like attempting to float in a wave pool
her teen girl flips under the surface against her efforts
she struggles
one breath at a time she feels like she’s flailing
arms stretched, reaching up for safety
it’s absent

the face of diabetes doesn’t wear a read swimsuit
feeling helpless mom watches from
an indiscernible distance
yelling from behind the screen, “don’t go in there”
it’s dangerous
type three transitions

her teen grows into a young woman and finds expression
she types out her darkness
using her heart and a thesaurus
she explores

creating freedom from layers of metaphor she rescues
with blame, she tries to place it
with guilt, she tries to accept it
with shame, she tries to override it
crossing her fingers all the while that the chemicals inside her would change and become less needy
they’re demanding
she hates it
wishing for a truth that was less muddled the kind of fear and sadness
that powered the waves she’s been trying to float in

her young woman grows into an adult and finds others.
she prospers.
the face of diabetes grows proud
type three transitions

and all she can do is find a way to say:

mom, you’re not the monster
because there is no monster
she lets diabetes emerge into the light, from the darkness of the closet
and like a child neglected,
cautious but still trusting
she let it be in the light it needed to grow

she let it grow and she fed it
she let it root into her like a forrest of fresh air
providing a scope above the trees facing a canyon of poppies
in bloom

She doesn’t need to float
mom
because she’s not drowning
she’s got it

and she says this:

i want you to know that it’s not everyday that i feel this,
but it is everyday, that i feel
something

i feel something shifting then reacting
then shifting some more
and it’s like the movement is eternal and
infinite
existing within me with out my permission
commanding
demading
asking questions
needing answers

swinging from high point left to high point right
like a bumgejumper post decent
accepting the pull of gravity in all directions
making fun from fright
learning to move
in transition

there is no stagnent
and in that i find peace
i can.