Posted in Poetry

Don’t Talk to me About Life

I look back with nostalgia
To when fibromyalgia
Was merely a good score in Scrabble
When getting up from my chair
Did not make me swear
And I could keep docs away with an apple. 

When at night I could sleep
Pain would not make me weep
And I could stand for a while without crying
When I still had the power
Each day to shower
And not feel as if I were dying 

But times they have changed
And it still feels quite strange
To use a stout stick when I walk
To now not be able
To sit long at a table
Or call up a friend for a talk. 

My life’s getting smaller
You don’t need a scholar
To tell you I’m fed up and weary
It hurts to get crafty
And I feel like a daftie
When life gets me sad and get teary. 

I know things could be worse
But life feels like a curse
Like I did something bad in lives previous
I’ve racked up some bad karma
When I cursed out Big Pharma
And now taking my meds is quite tedious. 

The future seems dark
There is no vital spark
To let me see naught but more pain.
So, I’ll get up tomorrow
Try to tamp down my sorrow
And do it all over again 

and again and again and again…

Author:

Writer, photographer, creative fantasist.

2 thoughts on “Don’t Talk to me About Life

  1. You really capture how frustrating and disheartening fibro must be, Nettie. And from what I understand (I am no expert!), even if you do ‘everything right,’ and take care of yourself, that doesn’t always prevent those awful days. It must be maddening.

  2. My pain in the bum, quite literally is Crohn. If you would shake me, I would rattle.

    Stunning and thought provoking poem, Nettie. I really hope the pain will ease.

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