seemingly more nights,
and when you're wanting
one simple night's reprieve.
One never shows,
An occasional promise
someday it will improve,
you draw up a blanket,
trying just to wrap a cold limb,
ease a spot that hurts more than any other,
One that helps you feel at least more
like a human being you swore no matter what
it was you lost-one thing you would
always hold onto for life, and as soon as it
was gone, you prayed you would
soon follow-or be in a place by then
that no matter what it would do to
this broken body, you would find one thing
maybe more....
The sweating, the swelling,
chills, and the normal aches and pains
as our body ages, you home becomes
so much more than a home-it's a safety zone.
Inside your body, a firey war zone,
one no doctor wants to take on,
much less take care of,
but even a kindness, a decency of showing
one some humanity, some decency of
perhaps going the distance,
remembering that not all are those that
have much more than a nickel or two,
two to rub if we are lucky.
The world has such low tolerance for what is different
the doctors we seek answers from
have none, and medicines we take,
the body never feels the same-you lose a bit each day,
only if you let it, but for me,
that is not physical, I know of no cure,
just one question, two perhaps.
After almost what, 200 years?
When is an honest, true and sincere effort
going to be made?
And when are people going to stop
touting cures through my inbox.
Okay, three-when are people going to cut
the grief I take for my own?
We are all human beings,
fighting a painful disorder,
creating disorder amongst ourselves,
contests to discuss who suffers more,
how "some psycho" shows up to in some way
"prey" on another who is too sick from
their own RSD to defend themselves...
Me, I am sick most days, so
I fail to see how so many times
people can find the time to discuss another
in such a painful way, as I see
we all have opportunities,
ones to help someone in pain,
whether or not they have RSD:
Does it matter?
Everyone suffers in one way or another,
and from a ghost, a demon in the night,
monsters under the bed, panic
and anxiety-even emotionally impaired
I think we ought to give a rating on McGill,
I think of no greater way to suffer,
and know no greater way to hurt,
than to strike back at someone who is hurting...
Worse yet, someone you know is hurting?
I guess I see little use for that,
about as much as comparing who
feels worse than the rest:
What happened to gathering
to ask things like, "Where do I find
clothes I find acceptable in children's
sizes, that I don't look like a child?
Or laughing away the hurts,
praying for strength for another day.
One question burned forever in my brain:
"When am I going to have my life as my own again?"
When is it no more appointments,
doctors, procedures, lab draws, therapies,
medication bottles that have little hope of working
lining the shelves, as you dispose of ones no longer being taken,
what is left still looks like a mess to so many,
and even to me, it feels so toxic.
One thing I never will pray to understand is how
To stab at one with using words,
we all know that words hurt worse..
The reason is quite simple.
Sometimes things don't change.
As this world of mine continues to shrink,
God, help me to make it just a bit bigger,
if even only for me. For me, God does Just That.
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