Splay her heart out on the exam table and dissect her
50% of her mother, 50% of her father
Should we write her off now
Or is there still hope?
Can she overcome what she was given
Or do we call it here on the table?
Mental, physical sickness
Stubbornness and poor communication
All the traits have been laid out so well
Genetics determined the make up
But make up can always be applied differently
New talents have now been trained, honed and perfected
Learning more every day from those around her
You cannot knock this fighter down
No matter how hard you try
No matter how hard you make her cry
She was never very good at math
So statistics didn’t mean much
But deans honours in highschool
96% in college until different stats took over
0.8% addict recovery success rate, nearly 6 years in counting
Living, Breathing, Doing more than just surviving
She just keeps going because it’s all she knows how to do
Reinventing herself each time
Reacting to her role in the world
The responsibilities on her shoulders and what she must carry
Needing less and less from those around
Knowing more and more who she is
Holding those most important that much closer
And just letting the rest go and fade away
So fuck your exam table
And fuck your statistics
I am who I am
And I am me.