Ode to a Bad Day

You can gather from the title today is not a good day. Yesterday wasn’t great either but today, has definitely been what those of us with mild-moderate M.E call a Bad Day.

I wanted to write today. I also wanted to do some housework. I wanted to go to the library and maybe stop off somewhere for a cuppa. On a Bad Day though, most of these intentions fall into the category of unrealistic goals as I don’t have the energy to move around the house let alone walk into town.

Sometime this afternoon I gave in to this reality and sat down with a book. As in often the case, once you let go of one reality another finds its way through and I wrote. Inspired by my current research on 19th century poetry and traditional poetic structure I found myself thinking about the Bad Day and dedicating a poem to it.

I have often toyed with the idea of writing whilst experiencing a Bad Day which has to far eluded me as I have been too tired to write. Somehow today, and maybe with the help of the structure providing a crutch to my weary body and brain, something emerged.

So here is An Ode to a Bad Day

***

Life-force sapped, arms of lead

Pinned and logged, heaved from bed

Pushed by will, stubborn as stone

Levering limbs, cast in wrought iron.

*

Eyes that sting, fighting to shut

Thoughts form tears – “if only”, but

Try to shake out despair, the closing grief

Fetid demons of false belief.

*

So so tired! Blood is fire, molten

Blistered joints, cracked and swollen

Must move on, cut through, ignore

Pain shatters resolve, so stifle its roar.

*

Can’t I just sleep! Oh Please! Can I

Just lie deep, and kiss my blight

Caress its heart. Give up hope

But no, it holds strong, a tireless rope.

*

The fire, the pull, the cloy, the claw

The iron, the lead, the heavy and sore

My constant. Lies curled. And there it waits

For hope to fall, and suck out my days.

*

Fear – cripples, conspires, as doubt creeps in

Exiled in place, left to its whim

My life now what ifs and ever again

I’m dank, I am doomed, lifeless, blood drained.

*

Another Bad day. And worse still may come

Clasps at my throat, scratched and worn

Each one, a reminder, the fiercest of claims

Each scar, a note – Always. Life comes back again.

*

Another Good day. It’s always the dream

Limbs to join the dance, eyes that find the gleam.

Face to the sky, to see the brightest light

I breathe. I love. I live. And I’m here for the fight.

Published by Kirstie Sivapalan

Writer. Poet. Indie Kid. Crystal Lady. Pisces. Enthuser. Cheerleader. Helper. Geordie Londoner. Sharer of stuff I know. Sometimes found working in HR (but not very often) Oh, and #spoonie, living with ME/CFS. That about covers it.

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