I’m still not better
This time it’s just a fever
Nothing more than it
Nothing less either
I’ve been out of school too long
My mother’s gone on and on
About me being too okay with being sick
How I’m digging myself into a pit
Of late work and projects due
And I’m questioning myself
Berating the truth of my judgment
Down to my queasiness
Questioning every cough
Wondering if I want to stay sick
Maybe it’s my choice
Maybe I’m in more control than I think
Or haven’t tried enough
Somehow I’ve quit
  No
I get hot with hate for the trouble I’ve caused
The homework I’ve missed
The questions I’ve provoked by my absences
Would it be better if I went into class?
Wheezing, my throat horse
Looking a mess so I can prove
I’m not making up excuses
Like I’m not just too lazy to get out of bed

What more proof do you want to see?
To see I’m not frauding my way out
I’m trying to prove myself not guilty of
An act of typical teenage mutiny
Instead of focusing on actually getting better

I know I have to make up every test
I know I’m missing lectures
I’m missing papers
Missing priceless learning time
When I could be soaking in needed information
By sitting quietly behind my desk
Silent
Not a sound
Unless I dutifully raise my hand to answer a question out loud
I’d be perfect and still
And kind enough to place no other emotion into
My teacher's hearts but complacency and contentment
And I wouldn’t be a problem
Not to them, not to my mother
Not to myself or any other
I would be quiet
And hide any part of myself in
pain just like everyone else.

(If mental illness was a fever)