Apology Letter
This is my apology letter
to a body
that always knew better.
I’m sorry.
I rarely heard you cries
for help
for rest
for warm-ups
or for stretches.
I’m sorry.
We both know I heard you then
but my mind
has always contained the
louder voice.
Funny isn’t it?
I learned to
quite both down.
To keep my mind
within
a skull
to keep my words
behind sealed lips.
I took it to the pavement
see I didn’t know better
I didn’t know
that trauma could build-up
in my runner’s hips.
I’m sorry.
I heard your screams
long before
I took the time to listen.
Athlete’s mentality
paired with
a stubborn personality
it wasn’t until I could barely walk
not until steps out of bed
brought excruciating pain
that I decided it was time
that we talk.
There may have been a sigh of relief
on your end
but it was muffled by sobs
Xrays
and MRIs
telling me
I could no longer pretend.
Ever have therapy
ripped
from your grip?
Results
that
raised more questions
than answers?
Like
how did you manage to do this?
We’ve never seen this in someone
your age.
How did you manage to do this?
You’re on a slippery slope,
won’t be able to walk
if you let it get to next stage.
So running shoes took a break
and I picked up the bottle.
I’m sorry.
That isn’t what you imagined
healing to look like.
Chronic inflammation
only fueled by
nights of
intoxication
mornings of
damnation.
Times where death
seemed like the better idea.
But despite my desperation
for a mental escape
for running that always brought me back
to the same starting point
for a year
I put up the caution tape.
Crime scene
evidence pending
patience.
But I never have the patience.
I brought you back
under my pretensions.
You would once again
be my silent victim
fall pray
to my extremist intentions.
I hushed you
for eight more years.
You just wouldn’t heal quick enough
I increased trauma
with unrealistic expectations
and self wallowing fears.
I
am but a victim
to this obstruction.
As if I
was only an innocent bystander
in your destruction.
Eight years later
I sit with ice wrapped around
a knee
no impact
no ripping
tendons in tact
but degeneration of cartilage
yet another chronic injury.
Stolen pavement
stolen slopes
and stolen mentality.
I’m sorry.
For making you
the enemy.
For silencing screams
with pain medications
for silencing pleas
with my snowboard’s
vibrations.
I’m sorry.
That I still don’t know
how to speak your language.
That I still wish
I was blessed with
a better version.
That my mind now
only knows how to focus on your pain
and rarely notes signs of your healing.
I’m sorry.
That I have yet to learn
what healing feels like.
And I’m sorry
that
I’m not sure
how sincere
these words are.
I know
I’ll wake tomorrow
with frustration
pumping through my veins
As a morning stretch
is filled with pain.
And this
this is my apology letter
to a body
I’ve always owed
better.
I’m sorry.