“Better”

I sit there in the hospital bed

Wondering to myself, "why me?"

I've had the same surgery 6 times before,

Yet nothing has truly changed.

They thought I was better

But I didn't feel better.

The voices in my head kept screaming at me that I wouldn't make it in the world if I had nothing to be pitied for.

The doctors didn't have to read my files to know who I was. I was constantly there, so they knew me by face.

As time went by, I was told that I was diseased again.

Months of healing gone to waste.

The doctors said to me "You deserve better" as they walked out of the room I laid in.

As they said this I realized I was "better" in my current state,

because "better" to them meant physically healing.

I should want to be "better", but with that label I am simply:

Nameless,

Faceless.

What they see is what shall be, and "better" is equivalent to "normal."

I will never be "normal" after what I've been through, but if the label of "better" is placed upon me, I am normal. I am faceless. I am nameless.