#endometriosis - Hello Poetry

It begins with a whisper, a shadow stitched to her womb, its weight pressing like a secret, its roots spreading unseen. They call it normal— the blood that floods like rivers, the cramps that steal her breath, the clots dragging her body down. Pain coils in her pelvis, a fire that burns without end. Her bladder aches, her bowels rebel, her back bends beneath its weight. They say it’s just being a woman, but how do you explain the storms? The tissue growing where it shouldn’t, the scars binding organs into one. She carries fatigue like a second skin, her energy drained by invisible wars. Her body becomes a battlefield— every nerve alive with rebellion. Doctors speak over her pain: It’s all in your head, they insist. But how do you imagine blood that stains, or pain that splits you in two? One day, she stops asking for answers. She stands tall in the face of dismissal. Her voice rises like thunder: This is my body; I know it best. Her womb is no longer their battlefield; it is sacred ground she reclaims. The shadow no longer consumes her— it becomes part of her story, not its end.

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Feb 4, 2025

Feb 4, 2025 at 9:02 PM UTC

SoulPhelan_Unbound

Pain as a Shadow

It begins with a whisper, a shadow stitched to her womb, its weight pressing like a secret, its roots spreading unseen. They call it normal— the blood that floods like rivers, the cramps that steal her breath, the clots dragging her body down. Pain coils in her pelvis, a fire that burns without end. Her bladder aches, her bowels rebel, her back bends beneath its weight. They say it’s just being a woman, but how do you explain the storms? The tissue growing where it shouldn’t, the scars binding organs into one. She carries fatigue like a second skin, her energy drained by invisible wars. Her body becomes a battlefield— every nerve alive with rebellion. Doctors speak over her pain: It’s all in your head, they insist. But how do you imagine blood that stains, or pain that splits you in two? One day, she stops asking for answers. She stands tall in the face of dismissal. Her voice rises like thunder: This is my body; I know it best. Her womb is no longer their battlefield; it is sacred ground she reclaims. The shadow no longer consumes her— it becomes part of her story, not its end.

32

I see the world horizontally, Soft sheets all stuffy With potential hardly realised. My eyes, heavy and unhappy, Are blinded by the muted sunshine Mocking me through the blinds. The hum of life, Doing fine just outside the window, I feel its energy, Almost laugh at its impossibility. Because I bear the world brutally, Confined and coffin-ed In an ache that leaves no stain. Lady Macbeth, My crime is wept on evidence of unliving, Those shrines of ******* Laid to rest around the head Of this tomb effigy, Chronically enshrined in invisible agony While the world just carries on.

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Mar 10, 2024

Mar 10, 2024 at 1:31 AM UTC

Tootytots1

Graveside Guest

I see the world horizontally, Soft sheets all stuffy With potential hardly realised. My eyes, heavy and unhappy, Are blinded by the muted sunshine Mocking me through the blinds. The hum of life, Doing fine just outside the window, I feel its energy, Almost laugh at its impossibility. Because I bear the world brutally, Confined and coffin-ed In an ache that leaves no stain. Lady Macbeth, My crime is wept on evidence of unliving, Those shrines of ******* Laid to rest around the head Of this tomb effigy, Chronically enshrined in invisible agony While the world just carries on.

21

I lay my hands over the rot concealed within my belly and imagine instead I am ripe with a husband's love, feeling for the beating warmth of a life beginning inside my desolate womb. I await constantly the trial of my womanly worth; this man may be my judge. ©Isobel G. 15.02.2022

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Apr 13, 2022

Apr 13, 2022 at 8:41 AM UTC

isobel-g

Desert womb

I lay my hands over the rot concealed within my belly and imagine instead I am ripe with a husband's love, feeling for the beating warmth of a life beginning inside my desolate womb. I await constantly the trial of my womanly worth; this man may be my judge. ©Isobel G. 15.02.2022

11

The pain sinks in And with the right pills it's fine Just have to wonder What kind of damage it's doing And if I'll ever be fine

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May 23, 2019

May 23, 2019 at 12:31 AM UTC

Lzzy5xs

Damage in Progress

The pain sinks in And with the right pills it's fine Just have to wonder What kind of damage it's doing And if I'll ever be fine

5

one in ten women they say that’s a hell of a lot of women but still i’m here at twenty years of age speaking with the doctor about infertility and pain only manageable by hormones and narcotics we talk of a diagnosis only discoverable by surgery there has to be a better way there has to be

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Jun 11, 2018

Jun 11, 2018 at 10:50 PM UTC

aubreyanne

i just wish this would endo

one in ten women they say that’s a hell of a lot of women but still i’m here at twenty years of age speaking with the doctor about infertility and pain only manageable by hormones and narcotics we talk of a diagnosis only discoverable by surgery there has to be a better way there has to be

12