The Shape of Survival

I was smooth, straight,
A line unbroken, unbent,
With no detours, no twists to navigate.

Then the diagnosis came.
"Incompatible with life," they said,
And everything changed.
I bent—
So far I thought I might break.

But I didn’t.

Therapy, medication, time—
They were threads weaving back strength.
Simple joys crept in,
Gentle reminders of life before.
I began to straighten,
But never fully.

The wire is no longer smooth.
Its bumps, its bends, its scars remain,
Marks of a journey that cannot be erased.
Try as I might,
The old path is gone.

Yet I am still a wire.
Still me.
Forever changed.