When I was young, I loathed my mom
for making me drink medicine
insecure of bitter melon
that it made
my throat claw down to my intestines
and ask them “What’s up?”
 
They would just open up
and spill.
 
Years later when I had dengue,
she turned me into Magneto
I attracted all the needles
Their kisses were my reoccurring nightmares
Colonies of bees, buzzing around
eager to puncture of what’s left of me.
 
But they made me taste honey again.
 
Since then,
I have come to terms that
Pain is necessary;
To suffer is to recover
 
When you left
My tears filled the void you created
Swallowed me whole
Dunked me in the depths of the Pacific
 
Today, I thank you
For teaching me how to swim

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words by: Oliver John Tabaquero