Panndyra's Posts

Come to this site to check out what I'm up to as a fledgling paranormal romance writer and a woman living with chronic illness who's trying to go raw!

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Phosphate Tears

This poem just got rejected. I feel totally sucky about it, but I am sure it needs some work. I am posting it here so I can read it and reread it. If you want to comment, be kind and constructive. I wrote this last year when I was on the couch literally. I was trying the guaifenesin protocol that Dr. Paul St. Armand advocates for the treatment of Fibromyalgia.

Here's a link if you want to know more about it. (Guess by the tone of this poem - how badly it made me feel!)

Phosphate Tears

I am trying so hard to improve
So hard to prove that I can
I can feel normal again
If normal is what I am

If normal is anything real.

I cry phosphate tears
They feel like porcelain chips
Streaming down my face
Dripping toxins
Swelling and reddening my skin,
Puffing me up and depleting me again.

One day I feel up
The next I can’t stand
I am betrayed by my body
But I betrayed her first

I abused her
I misused her
She mistrusts me
And is afraid I’ll just use her again.

I’m tired of the tears,
Especially these tears
They’re chalky and white
They’re bitter
Chunky, white strips
That streak my face
And hurt my eyes

I look like a clown

And can’t see the world today.
It’s blurry…

So, I die on the couch,
Waiting for someone’s god to care enough to finish the job
I have longed for the grave
I feel like there’s nothing left to save
And I mourn for my loss like I’m already lost
Because I feel like I’m already dead.

Why now?
Why me?
When will the suffering be enough?
When will my karmic debts be repaid?

This is punishment, right?

If not, it sure feels that way.

Everyone else thinks I’m crazy
Hazy-brained, lazy
and I like sitting on my ass.

Bull shit!
I like what this is doing to me!
I like being sick!
Are you kidding?
Please. They’re the insane ones.

Why would I do this to myself?
Why would anyone?

My life sits on a shelf
Like a book
Waiting to be picked up
When I feel better again …
If I still decide to read it,

Will anyone pick the plot up where I left off?
Will I ever be well again?
Or will I be terminally tired?

I’m tearing up again,
leaking toxins because my treatment is rough
I feel tired in my bones
My resolve is shot.

I’m clearing up, they say
Some days are fine
Some days are hell
And then I go back again
On this demonic roller coaster

The cycle sucks
The tears are bitter
I hate this pain
I hate this suffering
I’m no martyr, no saint
I’m a sinner but don’t deserve this fate
No one does.

Torturous limbo
I am weak and can’t get well
I hate this…
It’s worse than hell

At least then, it’d be over
One way or another

Wouldn’t it?


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