And I hate that when I find a lump under my skin,

How I hope that some stupid cells dividing too much,

Cause a fight that leaves me in a grave.

And how they'd still remember me a fighter as I smiled throughout the losing battle.

But I'm smiling because they will not blame me when I lose this one.

I've spent years apologising for things that I cannot control,

Because it is not cancer; they do not understand my fight.

And how sad that my recurrant dream of peace,

Is the recurrant nightmare that has haunted my mum for 18 years;

The nightmare she loses her small child.

And now I'm searching for myself in my broken mirrors,

And I am so paralysed by fear as I stare,

And I wonder, how will I ever get back inside?

I'm terrifyed this is all I ever will be.

Am I pretty?...

I hope I'm pretty.

Please hold me, but, please do not touch me.

Today I do not want to live,

Tomorrow I will see.