Ode to a Bad Day #2

I am going through some old poems and revising a few, which is as much as I can muster right now mid-relapse.

I wrote this one two years ago when I thought I was having a bad day. Perspective can be a wonderful thing and it can also be brutal as I look back today and realise that after these last few weeks it was moderate in comparison.

But there will be a good day again in my future and this poem whilst it depict the struggle of navigating body and mind through a bad day, ends with a hopeful message.

Luckily this will be the case for me. Sadly those with severe M.E may only see endless bad days in front of them until we can figure out how to cure this absolute bitch of a disease.

If this resonates please share. If it sounds like someone you know please share and talk to them about it. Ask how you can help. Listen. Empathise. Expand your understanding. Raise your awareness of the multisystemic condition known as M.E.

Love and light Kirstie 💖✨💖

Ode to a Bad Day (revised for 2021)

***

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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