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Sydney V Jan 11
I can’t brush my hair
for it ignites, like a fire
across my soft scalp.
Chronic pain...
Sydney V Jan 2
Sometimes,  
I feel like, I’m drowning.  
This feeling–  
a never-ending rush,  
of water, that cascades
throughout
my body,
my veins,
leaving me submerged
from the inside.  
This feeling–  
a longing for the mundane
when I could wake
to the sound of a 6:00am bell
and not,
have it be answered
by a throb
from within my skull.  
Today,  
my mind,  
sags, like telephone wires
swaying tirelessly  
in summer heat.
My bones,  
ache.  
These feelings–  
a second self  
carried
through this tired will
of conduct, I call mine
much like the nails
on my fingers  
and the hair,  
upon my scalp.
A poem for my pains.
You rush to check on grandma,
To make sure she’s okay.
They say don’t stress her out,
She’s too delicate to say.
You clinch your chest,
From the unbearable pain,
You ask to sit down,
You say not today,
But with your short life there’s no way you’re sick!
You’re faking it they say,
It’s probably just a bug, anyway.
I can’t help, but wonder and maybe be envious,
her long life deserves to be handled,
more delicately than my short presence?
Because I haven’t had the years to age,
I’m left feeling anxious,
Not just because I feel more alone,
But I’m left feeling like a fake,
Trying to live an ordinary existence,
They don’t know of the smile I forged,
That my tumble I said was me being clumsy,
Is just the faint feeling I receive consistently,
the yawning wasn’t from a late night,
that no matter how much I sleep it could never be enough.
The grabbing at my chest isn’t heart burn,
But an irregular heart-beat that was above average for no cause.
That I sit because the blood pulling in my legs feels like needles
not because I am lazy,
for I’m burdened with an illness that my youthful skin hides,
and the pain caused from an embodiment of an uneducated mind.
I suffer from Dysautomia/POTS and not a lot understand it. Sometimes my ailments get the best of me and while I may seem and look normal. You never really know just how bad it can be.
Annelise Camille Oct 2018
My hands are shaking
My heart is racing
My feet are pacing
They think I'm faking

My bones turn to stone
It's all I've ever known
My muscles atrophy
Pain got the best of me

It's invisible and deceitful
Failures made me cynical
Solutions are only temporary
This body of mine is the enemy

Inflammation spreads like wildfire
I'm tired of being so tired
Nothing stops the torture, but
I'm fighting like a soldier

My body rebels
It is a prison cell
Trapped in my own hell
Gunshots fire inside
I really have tried
1/24/18
Annelise Camille May 2017
Every inch of my body is screaming, blazed with fire
There's lightning between my shoulder blades
Rain dripping from my dewy greens
And electricity weaving between my tendons

There is a chainsaw cutting my bones
There are needles piercing through my chest
There is lava rushing through my veins
There is a hurricane in my head

I can feel my cells shrinking
I can feel my branches breaking
I can feel my leaves crumbling

Everything hurts and there is no remedy
This is the life of inevitable misery
Annelise Camille Jul 2017
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
Annelise Camille Sep 2018
Sometimes I believe my body is cursed
When I am burdened with all this pain
Wearing my disability like a bright, red stain
I think ahead to many years when it’ll be worse
When I can’t pick up a pen or unbutton my shirt
Or finish school or start a career
When more and more limitations start to appear
Sometimes I believe my body is cursed
Hillary B Apr 2018
‘it could be worse’ is a foolish expression
it brings no peace of mind
it’s just dismisses my issues
makes me feel small inside
my pain and suffering is real
so please don’t undermine
i’d rather hear it could be better
or stay quiet this time
Sarah Mulqueen Jan 2017
My body is a temple, one I must uphold.
My body is a temple,
A temple with a few bricks askew?
The foundations no longer stable?
Moss and ivy growing up the sides, finding all the crevasses.

To look at, all but a natural beauty.
I'm weathered at such a ripe young age.
My body is a temple.
But this temple needs a grave.

I can't call the architect,
To tell them they ****** up.
All the sympathetic looks, or sideways glares.
No one truly understand the amount I learn,
from the way they look at me.

My body is a safety hazard.
No warning sign required.
Hips and arms clicking and cracking. Legs, back and neck no better

Ease me up gently and handle with care.
I'll bruise with the slightest pressure.
My temple may as well be completely collapsed right on top of me.

My temple has a leak causing the structure to rot.
I don't have the energy,
To fix myself again.
I don't have the energy.
I'm barely even still me.
In April last year I found out my bone cyst had returned in my right humorous. I later found out I had been misdiagnosed and actually had something called Fibrous Dysplasia (https://www.fibrousdysplasia.org/)
Which is something a lot more serious than an Anuerysmal Bone Cyst which is what I previously thought I had.

Without sounding mellow dramatic I hope I was able to portray how my body feels on a day to day basis with chronic pain.
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