In Tincture, I speak from within a body that is always negotiating with itself. Living with chronic illness feels like standing on the edge of death, not dramatically, but quietly and persistently. I call it Tincture because healing and harm can steep together over time, potent in small doses. My condition is a silent arsenal, flaring without warning. Yet this poem is about endurance. Each day I choose to breathe, to soften, to coexist with exhaustion. I find small lights love, warmth, and, survival. I redefine strength as persistence. Even on the hardest days, I endure, choosing beauty, love, and acceptance.