For want of a less angsty title: I’m worried that I’m not the protagonist in my own life story


I’ve had this headache now
For 3 days
The doctor
-who was British, and therefore trustable-
told me
It was probably not
a tumor And
I should try physical therapy
Which I talked about for a few weeks
Before letting that too fall off the face of the earth
The dentist told me to see an orthodontist
So I did
And when I got braces
God damn it I choose the bright turquoise rubber bands
Looking like I had first exchanged my teeth for scrap metal
And then massacred a neon blueberry pie. When I
was younger
I bought attention not spent on me
My eye doctor said I didn’t need glasses
Which had been my last hope for
An easy answer
Now I take guesses
And fear as much as I morbidly hope
I need a specialist
To prescribe me a 3 times daily regimen
Of medicine
To fight off the invisible monkey
Clinging on to me for dear life and death
Biting vice grips into my temples
You know sometimes
Everybody wants to feel like they’re special
So for one day
I told my brother yes it was
a tumor
Went to a second eye doctor
And stopped wearing my retainer
Because if these headaches were the worst thing in the world
I would be a hero for my strength
And for all that
I still take pain killers every day
It turns out
That being a hero
Didn’t make these headaches go away
So I wait
As the brass balloon in my head inflates towards
When I die
I expect to be preceded by
A faint pop
Sometimes I get bad headaches
And sometimes I take myself too seriously

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