Two hundred eighty eight different numbers

The robot voice
asks for my

social security
number. Birthday.
Zip code. Phone
number. It’s

funny. I
can walk into
a hot room that

I might die
in daily.

I can dye my
hair myself
the worst

colors and
not care what
people think.

I can stand up
in a room and
teach a yoga

class. I can
sell my art.

I can not use
drugs or alcohol
without much

of a thought most
days. I can
show up to my

life with grace,
a lot of the time
but

there is no fear
to me like the
fear of going to

see a Doctor. I
dial the number
and my mouth

goes dry. I
don’t know how
to make appointments

without it being
a big deal.

It is a
vulnerability
and shame that

I can’t place.

So. I’m going
to the doctor
in two days.

Hopefully
I will get
used to

such things.

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