This today is grey and rainy
and feels painfully like a word
meaning neither yesterday nor tomorrow
And though reason dictates
it will be one soon enough
I think it will be one of the forgettables
remembered only by this paper and these words
(and today, please, today
i need the reassurance that
i will not be the same)
Even here; even now
as I paint a board that may yet end up scrapped
Remind me softly,
I am here for more than passing through.
Someday does not exist in some
Tantalizing intangible form.
Even here; even now, it is in the making.
Now, with every beating heart
Conquering every shaking hand
Even here; even now
as I rest while my paint is drying.
Trying out an acrostic form
Toss me a coffee and a word and I'll write you a poem <3
I am weak
And wobble as I stand
Like a baby bird
A phoenix, perhaps
Rising from the ashes
With a bit too much smoke
Left in its lungs.
The old husk
That shell built over many days
Of spring and rocks,
Gentle grass and balmy river
When it forgot it’s name was phoenix
Has been torn off
Too soon, like a scab
And the new skin underneath
Is tender in its infant stage
Under thin and ashy feathers.
Yes, it lives
Yes, it is rising
But one cannot go
From flames to flight
In an instant.
Let it instead be overnight
And let you, sweet bird
In the meanwhile.
I had a really bad reaction to something I ate a couple weeks ago. tried to capture some of the pain and weariness I was feeling afterwards in this piece. i long sometimes for a world where I'm not always on edge waiting for the next mistake that will leave me debillitatingly ill for hours
I mourn for the past
I mourn for the me I once knew
Going and going without thinking twice
Jumping and leaping without a care
What I would give to dance again
To walk on the beach without being in pain
To climb to new heights without fear of a fall
I miss my old spirit
I miss being a normal teen
I miss achieving the highest and being the best
It’s all different now
I had a plan
I miss my plan
I want a plan
But I can only play life by ear
I could jump back into my old body
Crawl back into my old brain
Feel young again
Feel the weight lifted off of my shoulders
Rip the labels off of me and toss them aside
I miss Sophie, the honor roll student
I miss Sophie, the actress
I miss Sophie, the future teacher
I can no longer escape the boundaries
Of Sophie, the sick kid
another emo poem about chronic illness?? whaaa??
yeah, that’s going to be a repetitive topic here. don’t want to get t o o emo, but it can **** sometimes being sick this young. I’m just lucky I had a childhood before this. I was looking at the Instagram account of a toddler with so many illnesses, and it made me realize how lucky I was to have those healthy years. that thought pattern led to the existence of this poem
I open up the cabinet
Take out the box
Flip the tab
Pour the contents into my hands
Each doing a different job
Controlling my lungs
Regulating my minerals
Making my body functional
One little tablet
Or the lack thereof
Can change my life
I direct my hand towards my mouth
Take a swig of water
yeah I wrote a poem about taking my nightly medicine dhdhsj im a mess
My sick is different.
My sick follows me like a dark cloud every second of every day.
My sick stalks me like a lion, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
My joints ache as I walk, but I keep walking.
My stomach burns as I eat, but I keep eating.
My insides scream as I smile, but I keep smiling.
I keep the sick hidden under a smile.
I accept it as my best friend and worst enemy.
I have learned to be tough so I won’t become my sick.
I wrote a poem about my chronic illness (Sjögren’s syndrome) a few days ago and it felt fitting to post it today because I’m getting an infusion today woohoo!!
Where does it hurt? They ask.
How badly does it hurt? They ask.
What type of pain is it? They ask.
When does it hurt? They ask.
Where does it hurt? I repeat.
What do you mean? I answer.
Today? Right now?
By the quadrant of my body?
Aching pains first?
Throbbing pains second?
How about pins and needles?
Should I prioritize?
It’s here, I say.
It’s all the time.
It’s every moment.
And please, I say,
They brush me off.
I’m not dying.
I will not die.
I have to repeat it to myself.
Because it feels an awful lot like death.
But I am chronically ill.
Ill, but not dying.
The doctors don’t listen,
It hurts! I said.
But I’m not dying.
I see my mirror posted on my wall.
I stop and stare at what I see.
I can't fix the mess in front of me.
Eyes swallowed by darkness and a smile that hides my misery.
I try to fathom how this all came to be..
What happened to me?
A life stolen by illness and disability.
Invisible ones that most of the time, you can't see.
I try to hide behind a strong facade.
Deep down inside, I quit.
I'm tired of playing games.
So I hide my thoughts and push them away.
I stand up tall, and push through the day.
But, When no one's looking, to my knees, I pray..
For. Just. One. Day.
A work in progress.
Just random thoughts I haven't ordered.
What does it say about me, then, that to make life would take mine away?
People don't like broken things
— The End —