This Body Is A Betrayal
Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
This body is a betrayal—
not dramatic, not sudden,
but slow and procedural,
the kind that files paperwork
while it dismantles you.
It has spent years
objecting to my presence,
misreading me as threat,
mounting internal rebellions
I never authorized.
Pain arrives without context.
Without cause I can correct.
It flares, retreats, returns—
a language that refuses fluency,
a grammar of interruption.
I have tried to reason with it.
Appease it.
Outwork it.
I have offered compliance,
discipline,
optimism in measured doses.
None of this has persuaded it
to let me stay comfortably inside.
Some days it feels
like inhabiting a house
that resents its occupant—
doors swelling shut,
stairs shifting underfoot,
lights flickering when I need them most.
I am exhausted
by the vigilance this requires.
By the negotiations.
By the way every plan
must be written in pencil
and lived with contingency.
What hurts most
is not the pain itself,
but the intimacy of it—
the way it comes from within,
the way there is no refuge
that does not include the source.
I grieve the body
that did not need this much management.
The ease I once mistook
for permanence.
The trust I did not know
was provisional.
And yet—
I am still here.
Still insisting on occupancy.
Still waking up inside the damage
and choosing to live anyway.
This body may resist me,
may fracture, inflame, misfire—
but I have learned
that betrayal does not always mean abandonment.
Sometimes it means
staying.
Staying when leaving is impossible.
Staying when comfort is unavailable.
Staying long enough
to build a life
around the fault lines.
This body is a betrayal.
And still—
it carries me.
Still—
it has not won.
Still—
I am here.
Keep My Words Alive
If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive or explore more of my work. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.
WHERE WORDS MEET MORNING LIGHT
BEGIN EACH DAY WITH SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
Every morning at 11:11AM, I send a poem — sometimes soft, sometimes devastating, always true.
💚 Subscribe now to read and breathe and feel along with me 💚
Poetry Anthologies by Britt Wolfe:
