Ice

I grow ice on my back,
No choice in the matter.
In the summer,
When it’s warm
And the sunlight covers my skin
Like a heated blanket,
I don’t notice it.
When I walk with friends
On sunny days,
Our laughs infecting the air,
Our smiles filling the empty gaps,
It becomes mere water—
Just mixing with the sweat
Brought on by the bright day.

It’s when the winter comes
That it becomes noticeable.
Like a dagger in my skin,
The ice sends strikes of
Frustration
Up my spine.
The cold days
Leave for ice to thrive.
I try to ignore it,
Never asking for help,
Never asking if people feel the same,
Never asking why I hate myself.
Ice is like a virus
I will forever have,
Enjoying my tainted mind.

By the time winter’s halfway through,
It has numbed my skin.
I no longer feel the pain—
No longer frustrated,
Just tired.
It pins me to my bed,
Makes my muscles ache,
Makes my mind go silent,
Makes my motivation wander away.
Just tired.
The sun doesn’t reach me
In my room.
But the bed is warmer than
The real world,
And my dreams are like
A constant summer,
One with friends every day.

When the days get longer,
The sun is out more.
The air heats up,
Filling my lungs with hope.
I cough and sputter at the
Feeling of spring
Flowing through my veins.
The light floods my frozen blood,
And my friends’ voices run
Like drugs though my body.

The thing about the ice
I grow on my back
Is that I know it will go away.
I know life will get better.
I know I’ll be happy again,
But, just like before,
I know it’ll always be there,
And winters will never change.