Thursday, 4 June 2009

The touch of a butterfly

People do not know and people cannot see
This constant hurt that resides deep within me.
Though looks can be deceiving, I should know
As these cracking bones continue to give me woe.

One minute I’m down, the next I’m up,
Hidden beneath an exterior fa├žade that keeps me locked up,
Caged as a prisoner I stand alone;
My walls are joints, ligaments and bone.

Forgotten are words, memories from long ago,
It’s hard to stare at you whose name I do not know.
Disturbed by insomniac moments my dreams are rare,
But what I do see is a girl who is immensely aware
Of the shakes, the quakes, the annoying mistakes;
Underneath the shell she’s crying oceans not lakes.

Life goes on and people wonder why
She can’t walk a mile; hold a box – just stands gazing at the sky;
Thinking of a time when she never felt abnormally sore,
So tired from the agony she wished could be no more.

What’s worse is no one can tell, no one knows,
This pain is deep, everywhere, even in her tippy toes.
Like broken jigsaw pieces scattered throughout the lands,
Her mind is addled, witness as the numbness spreads to her hands.

24/7 this pain will never wear off,
Feels bruised and damaged, an insignificant moth;
Tries to continue, persevere to go on,
Yet she conceals a secret something very wrong;

Her body is weak, mental ability weary,
Open your eyes understand, see clearly;
I will never be the same no matter how hard I try,
With Fibromyalgia this pain is real, even from the touch of a butterfly.



(copyrighted - written and owned by Sarah Andrews)