#invisibleillness - Hello Poetry

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.

0

Jul 7, 2017

Jul 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC

anniecammie

to be without shell

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.

1

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

0

May 22, 2017

May 22, 2017 at 7:26 AM UTC

anniecammie

my body rebels

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

13

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

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Sep 15, 2018

Sep 15, 2018 at 10:28 PM UTC

anniecammie

as the world awakes

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

8

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

0

Oct 19, 2018

Oct 19, 2018 at 3:30 PM UTC

anniecammie

inferno

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

21

When I was 15 I decided that dying was better than not knowing I sat in the doctors offices Not caring what they found Just praying they found something Something that would prove I wasn’t crazy That it wasn’t in my head Something that would make people believe me Believe my pain Praying that they wouldn’t congratulate me for being healthy Not because i wanted to be sick but because I was sick and no one believed me

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May 4, 2024

May 4, 2024 at 5:51 PM UTC

Dancer06

Knowing

When I was 15 I decided that dying was better than not knowing I sat in the doctors offices Not caring what they found Just praying they found something Something that would prove I wasn’t crazy That it wasn’t in my head Something that would make people believe me Believe my pain Praying that they wouldn’t congratulate me for being healthy Not because i wanted to be sick but because I was sick and no one believed me

10

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.

0

Mar 12

Mar 12, 2026 at 8:46 PM UTC

shoaib005

The Listener

She came to me with wet cheeks, Told me about her fever— How it came at midnight, How it shook her like a leaf, How no one understood. I nodded. I understood. She spoke of thermometers and tablets, Of worries that kept her awake, Of how hard it is to be alone when you're sick. Her hands moved as she spoke, Tracing circles in the air, Drawing the shape of her suffering So I could see it clearly. I saw it. What she didn't see Was the cancer sleeping in my bones, The quiet war inside my chest, The way I measure my life In small things now— Morning light, birdsong, One more day. --- She said, "You're so strong. You always listen. You never complain about your own problems." And I smiled, Because what else can you do When the weight you carry Is too heavy for words? --- Here is what I have learned: Small pain cries. Big pain sits. Medium pain finds a friend. But the pain that will end you— That pain makes you a friend To everyone else's pain. She will remember this day As the time I held her hand While she was sick. She will tell others, "He was there for me." And I will remember That for one hour I forgot my own dying By holding someone else's living. --- Sometimes I wonder: If my cancer had a voice, What would it say? Would it scream? Would it beg? Would it shake people like she did? Or would it sit quietly too, Knowing that the world Can only carry So much sorrow? --- Tonight she is home, Probably sleeping, Her fever gone by morning. Tonight I am here, Counting heartbeats, Wondering how many are left, Holding my own hand Because no one else knows It needs holding. --- This is not a complaint. This is just how it is. Some people cry in public Because they can. Some people cry in private Because they must. And some people— Some people spend their last days Being soft places For others to fall. --- If you read this And remember someone Who listened to your pain But never shared their own— Go back. Ask again. Look closer. Because the quietest ones Are usually the ones Carrying the most. And sometimes, In their silence, They are screaming.

93

Here stands a man A shadow of himself Burdened by guilt And failing health Yet on the outside You would fail to see The trauma and pain That resides within me My apparent smile Is perceived as joy A simple disguise I like to employ My social disdain Is seen in reflection Yet...I masquerade To avoid your attention But as time passes by The cracks, they appear Leaking my soul Through a solitary tear Keeping a distance Is the only way To stop the trauma Releasing today

0

Feb 28, 2017

Feb 28, 2017 at 3:41 AM UTC

LostatSea

Burden

Here stands a man A shadow of himself Burdened by guilt And failing health Yet on the outside You would fail to see The trauma and pain That resides within me My apparent smile Is perceived as joy A simple disguise I like to employ My social disdain Is seen in reflection Yet...I masquerade To avoid your attention But as time passes by The cracks, they appear Leaking my soul Through a solitary tear Keeping a distance Is the only way To stop the trauma Releasing today

24

‘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

0

Apr 5, 2018

Apr 5, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC

Rowhomeward

4/30

‘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

8

I don’t know how to write. I have no finesse, I don’t understand the rules I’m pretty sure I used that comma wrong. I never amounted to anything. I don’t know… no I know my being too self aware put me here. There’s something about walking a line that keeps you balanced but I tipped to far over to one side. My mind is going. I can feel it. I’m not sure if I detached too hard or if my mind is just really giving up. My mind feels silent and noisy all at once. I know I’m confused but I don’t want to take the time to figure it out. Am I an imposter? Is any of this real? Why do I feel like I am floating but not in a good way. Is there even a good way to float. I feel high even when I am not. I have so much to say but no voice. Even if I had something to say is it important. Is it the sickness I now carry? Is it eating away at my brain? My motor function skills are loose and unsure. I used to be so confident and steady fast in these things. Is this man made or has it always been around: Am I over diagnosed? Is it this or is it that? Is it still too taboo to talk about? Does my anxiety and fibro make you uncomfortable? That’s funny because it REALLY makes me uncomfortable. Depression is real. Anxiety is real. It’s all real. Can’t be explained only experienced. Maybe you don’t like it. Maybe it’s too negative. Well it’s my life. It’s my reality. I’m not sorry if it interrupts your day just block me. Where is my brain. It’s almost gone.

0

Feb 27, 2025

Feb 27, 2025 at 9:53 PM UTC

Vanzy

Out of Body

I don’t know how to write. I have no finesse, I don’t understand the rules I’m pretty sure I used that comma wrong. I never amounted to anything. I don’t know… no I know my being too self aware put me here. There’s something about walking a line that keeps you balanced but I tipped to far over to one side. My mind is going. I can feel it. I’m not sure if I detached too hard or if my mind is just really giving up. My mind feels silent and noisy all at once. I know I’m confused but I don’t want to take the time to figure it out. Am I an imposter? Is any of this real? Why do I feel like I am floating but not in a good way. Is there even a good way to float. I feel high even when I am not. I have so much to say but no voice. Even if I had something to say is it important. Is it the sickness I now carry? Is it eating away at my brain? My motor function skills are loose and unsure. I used to be so confident and steady fast in these things. Is this man made or has it always been around: Am I over diagnosed? Is it this or is it that? Is it still too taboo to talk about? Does my anxiety and fibro make you uncomfortable? That’s funny because it REALLY makes me uncomfortable. Depression is real. Anxiety is real. It’s all real. Can’t be explained only experienced. Maybe you don’t like it. Maybe it’s too negative. Well it’s my life. It’s my reality. I’m not sorry if it interrupts your day just block me. Where is my brain. It’s almost gone.

38