I love you backwards and forwards,
as different as we are.
As much I think we should be the sort
of friends each other’s kids call auntie
in the future.
I feel as if I failed
because I haven’t convinced you
that my life isn’t pathetic or pointless.
I suspect you think I’m praying
(in some secret mind corner
I don’t acknowledge due to personal politics)
to have this atypical body repaired
like a common household appliance
by someone in a long, white lab coat
who sports the letters MD after their name.