i am an aries so the tips of my fingers 
ache raw from biting my nails down to the quick with 
a pisces moon so i take four to six aleve a day 
for headaches and cramps and everything i own 
is blood-stained with an aquarius rising 
so the lines in my irises are an owl’s broken legs so 
i pop my fifth aleve of the day even though i’m supposed to max out at three.

[my doctor told me that when she gets headaches, she just takes an over-the-counter drug. 
i told her they don’t work. she told me that when she gets headaches, 
she just takes an over-the-counter drug. i shake the aleve bottle. 
i didn’t think lying in bed would be so painful, but here we are.] 

i didn’t think lying in bed would be so painful, but here we are. 
i try to be more than my body, but my body says “think again!”
i try to write about my body, but my body writes about me.
john green says he believes around god, not in god. i am similarly
in the business of writing around myself, not about myself. in emails
to professors asking for extensions and texts to classmates 
about why i haven’t done my part of the project yet, 
i have to explain my pain without naming it. my specialist treats me 
for “migraines,” which i don’t exactly have. “cluster headaches” 
fits better, but not well. they’re supposed to come in waves with long breaks 
in between. a fact: i have no breaks. language is power 
and my words are shit. i can’t get better if i can’t explain the problem 
that needs to be fixed—or say what i need—or if i need—or if i could need 
(if i needed). 

the only thing i know is that i can’t handle needles, 
so the pills my specialist gave me better keep working.

[my doctor calls. she says i’m taking the pills my specialist gave me too often.]

[my specialist calls. he says i should take more and prescribes a higher dose.]

i take my specialist’s pills with another aleve for good measure.
i’m up to six today and nothing has healed. i see no light because
i cannot look at it in the first place and because 
there is not even anything to look at.

i am                so i 
ache raw from       rising  
headaches and cramps       and lines in my irises 
broken with blood 

i own i am    an owl    so i  
killed the owl / and carry 
my broken legs from the tips of my fingers
quick, i
pop the day in my mouth, so i max out 
at four to six 
moons.

my body has reached the end of its poem.

Eleanor Ball is currently in hibernation after escaping college with a degree in English and public health. Her work is featured or forthcoming in The B’K, Bullshit Lit, Stone of Madness, the winnow, and elsewhere.