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Bella Isaacs Sep 2021
I walked through life with a rude and fresh arrogance:
I was taught it when I was still a big fish in a small pond,
When I still had a can-do-it-all attitude, when the dance
Was life, and the tune was want, and the performer, fond,
Moved like anything. Anyone. Save Lethe, who dulled me,
Who pulled me under waves when I cursed the sea,
When I thought, to time immemorial, I had the energy
To do anything, go anywhere, be anything I wanted to be -
I lived off borrowed time, and borrowed fire,
And borrowed, all of my once blazing desire
Fed no one, but lost dreams - I reap the harvest now:
I should have been a doctor, and I plough
My lack of care and decision, my blind turning, and the resulting salt,
I trudge through the compost of other unfinished deeds, never to halt -
I never knew the meaning of a battery, even when it ran down;
My phone recharges at night, and I simply squint and frown,
Trying to make sense of a world sensible to girl who used to dream;
Sleeping through waking, as though nothing would be as it would seem.
I am undertaking a challenge of writing a poem a day until the 31st of September to raise some money (or at least awareness) for my mother's research group at the University of Oxford, who are trying to find the causes of Lyme Disease, ME/CFS and Long COVID, amongst other fatigue related illnesses. If you are interested, this is their page: https://www.wrh.ox.ac.uk/team/karl-morten . The poems are all going to follow themes that are typically associated with these conditions, such as despair, lost opportunity, exhaustion... Please give me advice and suggestions! I'd really appreciate your input. At the moment, I'm calling the challenge the FortnightForFatigue Challenge. I would like to thank you all for your support in advance.
Bella Isaacs Sep 2021
There are still clothes I cannot bring myself to sort,
Still papers lying, crumbling, crumpling their worth -
My life is a mess since you hit me out of kilter
And I can't pick myself up, let alone my belongings;
I can't pick up, get up, grow up, let alone filter
What I need and what I don't, as in my longings
I asked for you - I should have asked to long for breath;
Perhaps I'm just enduring cramp now, in this little death
Of mine - Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow with a fresh head,
Maybe I'll remember my worth, and not with dread
That I am worth so little to you
Who was just one of a few
One of a few you passed by and left a wake,
Awake. How could you know, sweet rake?
How could I know? Disease can often touch us longer
Than we think; its hold, though weakened, is still stronger.
Second poem in the FortnightForFatigue challenge.
Bella Isaacs Sep 2021
What flawed design is this? Framed by greed, eyed by chance,
Do you think so easily you can entrap me in this dance?
It is a marriage contract in which I have no choice -
I have no ground, no sound, no voice...
I cannot. What? Either it is my future or my siblings' in jeopardy.
I exaggerate - We can afford this, but barely.
Minimum student loan: The bane of many, the burden of many
Burden of unrealistic measures. You ask me to live off borrowed money
On borrowed time? You ask me to learn as others did off reflections from the past,
When time has moved on, and moved on fast?
When the world is barking at these measures, and still it continues,
And I, at risk of being denied an education, cannot refuse
To do things, not just by halves, but by even by eighths.
And would I, I would refuse another year, and hope the Fates
Prove kind. Do they prove kind to those who complain?
Who ever loved a rebel, when the rebel was alone?
My university is giving me 2 hours of in-person teaching a week, and the rest is online, and they are asking me to travel to the campus to study, meaning I have to pay to live there. My parents are already paying for my mother's degree and my siblings' education, and they'll have to help me too, but for what? I have to take out a large student loan, for what? I have to pay the same as other students did in days gone by, when they had in-person lectures and seminars. And I get two hours a week. I am appalled, and I know I'm not the only person in this situation. It's so absurd.
Anyway, my problems aside: If you liked this, I would ask you please to consider donating to The Morten Group - Oxford (https://www.development.ox.ac.uk/mecfs). This would help fund my mother's PhD, in which she will be trying to find the cause of ME/CFS and other serious fatigue-related illnesses, which affect the quality of life of millions. Thank you so much!

UPDATE: I've found out I am having more in-person contact time, thank goodness! But still less than I would pre-COVID!
Bella Isaacs Sep 2021
Why is my head empty?
I have a million ideas of what to write
But none of them seem right.
Perhaps just this is plenty.
Please check out the link in my bio. Thank you :)
Bella Isaacs Sep 2021
There is a story that I'm told:
When I was only six years old,
A playmate I met in Uni parks;
When her mother found out that I
Lived just past the marsh,
I was declared bad company.
To which I did reply:
"When I am rich and famous,
I won't treat you as you have treated me."
Since then, I have met many an ignoramus
But never 'til this evening, did I recall the reply,
Of a hurt, stung, but sage and sweet child: The six year old I.
I think it's always important to be the bigger person. We all have kindness in us - We must be the light when we encounter darkness. Do not give your provokers the pleasure of seeing you sink down to their level. Can it be argued that a person is only truly grown up when they start wishing a person the chance that they might open their eyes, rather than cursing them for keeping these closed, or being by nature blind?
Again a personal poem inspired by today's struggle. It is a little one compared to many others: As you probably know I'm trying to raise money so that the daily struggles of people with fatigue-related conditions can be eventually eliminated. The Morten Group - Oxford is on track towards doing that. They have raised more than half of their target of £30K, please help them raise the remainder, so that they can find the cause and work towards the cure for illnesses like ME/CFS, endometriosis, Chronic Lyme Disease, Long COVID and PANS/PANDAS. Please could you repost this poem or consider donating to this link: www.development.ox.ac.uk/mecfs .
Thank you so, so much for your help!
Bella Isaacs Sep 2021
I was looking at shoes, as I was two and a half years ago
Off to mark a milestone, as I am now,
And somehow, as before, the shop owner becomes my advisor,
Sagely dispenses wisdom, asks sage questions, a sagesse that I
Do not know, though I feel older than the hills - the lies for
A true veteran to realise, though I will never be older, we can't deny
Than I am now, yet also never younger, in this moment.
It is easy for one that has seen many to guess the torment
Of a young soul - My life is decided in my teens, and I stick with it -
Or not, as they keep telling me - the door isn't closed - I am young;
It doesn't feel that way - it isn't long I was a babe, it isn't long
I have to live, I lie to myself, savouring little and nothing
Except the wine that dulls me further; It doesn't fit;
Nothing fits, into the time-frame I have constructed from something,
A rate, that isn't constant - the change in the perception of time:
There was a time that hours were days, and now days are hours;
And one day, they will be seconds, and soon will years.
It's all too fast, even when I complain it is too slow; where's the rhyme
And reason and rhythm to all of this? I was conceived; the die was cast;
I'm not going somewhere slowly: I'm going nowhere, fast.
Third in the series of the FortnightForFatigue Challenge. Please check out the group I am doing this challenge for, trying to raise awareness for fatigue-related illnesses through my themed poems. They need all the help they can get for their research! https://www.wrh.ox.ac.uk/team/karl-morten
Bella Isaacs Sep 2021
I still look at Oxbridgers with envy;
I still look at high-school kids bleary-eyed;
I think, I'll leave home and go crazy;
Looking back on old love, I'm cold inside.
My being's regret: I know full well why
It's all past my ears - there once was a time
When gratitude meant something; And, young, I
Was humble. I rose, and I fell, to climb
Yet again, dusty-handed, dishevelled,
And bitter. Do I not shine anymore,
You stars? I can't ask why I am so levelled
Because I know. I can't wail any more
Because I would waste more hours I don't have.
My speech is of a man half in the grave -
I'm only half out of my parents' house;
Wailing would be an insult to my nous.
I met up with two friends at Cambridge today and I was having a hard time containing my envy. I was always told at school I could make it - I knew I could, but I did not impress my interviewers. Possibly 'cos I went in so confident. When I applied to my competitive "Oxford college" style school, I came to interview very jetlagged, and gave it all I had. Those days were evidently over being interviewed by my dad's old college at Cambridge. They lost a real natural. I taught myself French and Spanish GCSE, received the highest marks for my exam in the country TWICE, and was top of my class for A Level. Oh WELL. No, I don't know when I'll get over my salt for this, in truth. But, you know, my godmother told me, "God has three answers to a woman - "Yes, dear.", "Yes, dear, but not yet." and "No, dear, but I have something better for you.".". Maybe I'll become professor in my hometown of Oxford. Who knows? We can only hope.
In the meantime, talking of Oxford, please check out the link in my bio (https://www.development.ox.ac.uk/mecfs) if you can, and, again, if you can, please donate to the Morten Group's efforts to find the cause of fatigue-related conditions. It's been centuries, and these illnesses really need to be addressed, because they are debilitating as heck for many, many people. Thank you so, so much!

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