Age Six I am eaten by a Star Wars space ship;
its name MRI.
Age Eight Fifteen metal stickers fixed to my scalp,
this art project Electroencephalogram.
Age Twelve I am diagnosed with chronic migraine
Headaches.
Age Fifteen 45 excused absences my sophomore year.
Age Twenty My hazel eyes, a sealed coffin blinded
by blackness.
Pressure beats
behind my left eye.
My temples cry- pins, needles
press against their bony surface.
Car tires crash through crater pot holes
outside bedroom window- I hear atomic explosions.
Migraine, my spontaneous wake up call:
Louder than my mother’s voice
more persistent than an alarm clock.
A Darkened room
complete silence
this body still
between white cotton sheets.
My stomach nauseous by scent of Eggo waffles.
My eyes are closed blinds to morning’s sunset.
Doctor’s diagnosis’ incorrect
NOT chocolate
back spasms
or depression
I wish I were dead.
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