Chronic illness isn’t Some beautiful Pale Girl sitting under a tree, Book in hand. It’s no romantic tragedy Or heartfelt tear-jerker It’s Sitting on the floor of your bedroom 2 am Trying not to cry because You wanted to be in bed three hours ago Your body didn’t. It’s Obsessively tracking every Food and drink Symptom and medication It’s Juggling four doctors and work All at once It’s Trying not to ***** Struggling to stand Fighting To exist
wrote this about my struggle with undiagnosed chronic illness.
You are the sunshine that lingers in my room when I feel so dark and lonely. You peek through my curtains blinding me with idea that I can get out of bed and nestle in blooming flowers and sprouting trees. Spring is coming you whisper to me but my mind is foggy, filled with thoughts of losing my self and trying to find myself again. You are the bird that chirps outside my window reminding me of the new day and the sunshine you are soon to bring in. You were the light of my life until you left leaving me lonely with little bird song to be sung and little sunshine to be felt.
It is not folly to be sick bodies breaking down stripping flesh from mind separating the viruses and germs from taking over like a plague devouring health like a sick game of wit.
But wit came and went and determination stayed like a whip breaking receding dissolving into the earth all pain vanished the moment love came into the picture bringing a sense of sensitivity, sensibility, belonging, grace, peacefulness, and harmony. The balance of nature is to be mature not unlike like manure becoming compost for flowers.
Something like sickness or suckness or swiftness can only be surface material marching forward getting stronger every day weakened by germs and viruses weakened by wanting weakened by longing to become something greater and grander than ever imagined.
To be sick is to surrender.
Is to lie in the wet dirt called mud and be covered by rain and leaves becoming mulch for the trees.
Wet. Withered. Weak and surviving.
And once the sickness passes, bodies grow sturdy become thick roots winding deeper into earth’s crust the inner and outer layers changing dust into mud into mulch into compost into sprouts into plants into gardens into parks there unto infinity back into dust and the beautiful cycle starts
all over again.
and the seasons come and go and the sickness comes and goes and the flowers and fruits and vegetables grow and grow and grow and grow and grow
Why do we need PG? It's an ******* reality. What will a child see? *** and violence on TV? There's *** and violence plenty more, In schools, in alleys behind the store. So let your children know the ropes, So that you don't raise a corpse.
Let your children see ******* and killing, because it's natural. And kids, go, ****, don't wait until marriage, married *** ***** ***.