I dream of just a normal day.
A day without pills
One without appointments
and not having pain
I dream of a single day
that I could do anything
run or dance or sing
and not being afraid
Just a single day
for doing anything
catching butterflies
or painting trees
and sipping on tea
Just one day
A single day
without any compromises
and without surprises
no broken promises
and no delays
Just a jump out of bed
and yell at the sky kind of day
I’m tired of being sick
It’s not sleeping, despite the fatigue
Then falling asleep when trying to be awake
I don’t want to be unpredictable
with sick calls, no shows and late arrivals
people figure that I’m not invested
I am tired of being the second choice.
There is no doubt that they love me
but that’s not the same as being first.
How dare you?
Calling yourself justice?
Calling yourself the father?
Declaring yourself love?
My fragile flesh now fails me
While my mind remains the same.
A prison of flesh and bones
I’m bound to this body.
An essential part of what I am.
Yet, this tangible stuff,
is not the essential stuff.
That which cannot be seen nor touched
Truly makes me what I am.
Do not judge me
for the tears I cry today
As I grieve the self I once imagined
and now know can never be.
When I say I’m tired of being sick
I’m talking about more then headaches
And the slipping of my joints.
The appointments with judgmental doctors…
Continue reading “Chronically Tired”You wonder why I feel
that I take up too much space.
Yet, I do not. All I need to do is recall.
Sit still, so they can rest.
Be quiet, so they can hear.
Lower your energy
so they can handle you.
I am not the person you see
as I am living here behind my mask.
You have taught me
that be who I am isn’t safe.
You taught me this with your words,
with the way you’ve shunned me.
You taught me this when you laughed
and made fun of me for being different.
The teacher lied to me,
when she said that words could never hurt me.
Sticks and stones break my bones
and the words cut something deeper.
When you told me, I wasn’t good enough, I believed you.
When you told me, I was lazy, I believed you.
These words you gave me,
became part of who I am.
What is said, is done.
You can never take them back.
And now I live here, behind my mask.
This thing, that you call me,
doesn’t change who I am,
yet it defines me,
This name, this diagnosis,
that you gave me.
The name didn’t make me this way,
yet it shapes everything around me.
The stigma for this label,
marking every social interaction
and limiting the choices I can make.
It is too much to get up today
The pain completely overwhelms me
There is nothing left
My cup is empty
But, I must get up
I must face the pain
If there is no courage
There will be nothing
My cup is empty
But filling it requires Courage
Zebra Pig 