Time has no shape,

Yet I always try to imagine what it would look like if it had one,

It’s power makes me think of something big,

A powerful beast,

A rhino,

A bull,

But that wouldn’t be right,

Time isn’t a behemoth that overpowers the things around it,

It is something much smaller,

That adapts to any climate,

Attacking everything in its path,

Time is no different than bacteria,

In everything,

On everything,

It can help us,

Save us,

But it can also destroy us,

Eating away at health and leaving death in its wake,

Delivering death in a smaller,

Slower, more painful package


The Tumour

I can feel it growing inside of me,

Getting bigger day by day as it steals more energy from me,

I’ve been eating more to fight it off, but its appetite is insatiable,

Even as it harvests my meals for itself, I still spend my mornings throwing up food that I didn’t want to eat,

Meanwhile, I can longer eat or drink the things that I want,

My diet, my habits, my life is being held hostage,


Even once the tumour is removed from my body, it won’t be removed from my life,

The operation might kill me,

Even if it doesn’t, the pain, the fatigue, the scarring will linger,

I’ll need time to recover, meanwhile the disease and its symptoms will live on, following me home,

The sleep I desperately need for recovery will be cut short in the middle of the night,

More screaming, more pain, more misery,

It will be this way for months,


Once I pass this stage, the disease will continue to drain my money and my time,

Always asking for more,

If I am lucky, I will get a few days out of every month to truly enjoy my life,

Free of pain, medication, treatment,

Even as the symptoms wane and as the last of the disease truly leaves me,

My life is still not my own,



It’s a process many other people have gone through,

It’s a process my parents went through, which is why they feel like I am indebted to experience it as well,

Decades of hindsight allow them to focus on all the lessons they learned from the disease, all the experiences that were small rays of light in a world of darkness,

They don’t call the tumour, the disease what it really is,

They call it a baby.