sickness

my mum says i'll always be sick

but sick is not the word i’d choose

there is a hole inside my chest

that stings and bleeds a constant ooze

sometimes i reach my hand inside

and grip each side tight with my fingers

until the wound is gaping wide

to get to feel the pain that lingers

my mum says i'll never be loved

but deep down i know that she's wrong

though i admit i'm tired of

having been futile for so long

because i'll never be a friend

a lover, father, someone’s shelter

the hole inside me will ascend

until it swallows all that matters