The Words Have Fibro: A Poem

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Sometimes, as I drift of, my brain latches on to little snippets of though. They bounce  around inside my brain and I feel brilliant in the moment.  It is a bit like un-cracking this universal truth that seems so obvious.  I feel a bit genius and I promise myself that I will write them when I wake up.  Invariably, I forget them.  Repeat this over the course of days and weeks and I inevitably have a burst of pent up words and I have to write.  Seeing as how I have been battling a plague of viruses since December, and I have had more pain days than usual, I think I have mentally written and forgotten 50 posts.  This is a conservative estimate.  Yesterday, I bought new colored pens.  I feel this has made a difference, or at least I will pretend it has.

I feel as if I should do some catching up for those of you who don’t follow my busy tweeting, but I don’t feel as if I can do it justice  I am still battling the lingering effects of last night’s migraine and my head still feels as if it were stuck in a blender.  There is so much I simply must tell you!  Since I am only slightly evil, I will just say that I have some really exciting things in the works.

“The last two days have been like something out of a fairy tale.  I may be tired and I may be hurting, but people SEE ME.  I cannot even convey what that means…So, thank you to everyone who believes in me and sees things I couldn’t even see myself” -@RieOfLetters

One of the things that is essential to managing any chronic illness, is ensuring that you tend your emotional health.  If you are a creative type, or even if you are not, poetry can be a great form of self care.  Self care, contrary to popular opinion, is not this perfunctory thing.  In today’s #patientchat (via Twitter), we discussed both our definitions of self care and our related goals for the year.

“To me, #selfcare is listening to your own body and attending to it’s needs.  Taking a nap is self care, so is attending medical appointments. #patientchat” -@RieOfLetters

Now, I know this is somewhat of an unusual approach to things, especially as I haven’t written poetry in nearly 20 years*.  Just thinking of the time passed is a bit on the brutal side.  So, please be kind. (*Not entirely true.  My more recent attempts have been ceremoniously burnt to a crisp.)

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The Words Have Fibro

I used to write

the words pouring out

Bleeding across the page

Pages

Citations names dates numbers

Books full of academic grace

I had the grasp firmly

Compliments about eloquence

Elegance

Dying for the words

Turning phrases so

Conveying meaning from my soul

Raining down and blazing

From brain to fingertips

I gave them

Life

Suitable for creating

An image and it was all

Mine

The fog comes

Like a ravenous beast

Or an eraser

Maybe mud

The thing the thing

Its all been said before

100

A Hundred Twenty and Ten

No meaning

Darkness and grasping

I wish to pluck these … vegetables

Vestiges, Verbatim

Vacillation, VACCINATION

I know. I know. I know.

You know I know

But they are eaten and gone

The shame, the shame

It is real and I stare

The words, the words…

The.

Words.

 

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