On the days that hurt—
when the body speaks in softened ache,
and each breath arrives
like a delicate task performed in shadow—
let this be enough.
Let it be enough
that you woke to the turning of light,
even if it did not reach you.
Let it be enough
that you stayed,
though the hours unfolded slowly,
without welcome or ease.
There are moments when language fails you—when a single word, clinical and cold, is offered not as comfort, but as containment. It arrives quietly, cloaked in certainty, yet heavy with implication. A diagnosis. A name for the unknown. And in its naming, the subtle danger: that you might forget who you are beyond it.
But you must remember—
You are more than a diagnosis.
By Brittny Lee | Featured Contributor
Trees still grow
Flaming crimsons and candy apple greens
On a street where she loved
and lived and sang with the stars
Her dream consumed her
A temptress all in white
Blush red among alabaster cheeks
becoming love tumbling down hills with her dream
Heart beating vital blood
Tendons stretching and breaths coming out in rasps
She reached her goal
![Living [a poem]](https://i0.wp.com/healthinspiration.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/nature-poem.jpg?fit=1000%2C631&ssl=1&resize=40%2C40){kind=small}
