I feel the weight of the battery pack digging into my neck,
as it hangs over my heart.
I feel the wires tangling around my breasts.
The pull of the adhesive on my skin
leaves behind dark rings and reddened agitation.
The pack sometimes vibrates, bringing my attention
to the weight at my hip, and a cell-phone like device
that tells me I’ve received another message from
a faceless monitor watching for anomalies.
I feel the skip in my chest as my body,
or is it fear? tells me to press record,
so some doctor can see what might be wrong.
Because there is something wrong.
Has been for far too long.
A missed beat here, shallow breath there.
And the all too real reality check
that the steady thrum that has existed
safely under skin and bone,
may be steady no more.
So I tell the world to ignore the wires,
in an effort to convince myself,
I’m okay…I’m okay…
the wires mean I’m not dead yet.

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