The Same, But Broken

It is the state of fragility that blindsides me.
I am a strong woman.
Someone once told me I was courageous, but I cannot see it –
I have not chosen pain, grief,

The fragility is pervasive –
My body feels reduced to miniscule fibers:
stretched and torn, on the brink of brokenness.
Mind, overwhelmed, obsesses, but will not organize
or let go.
if only I could let go.
If you could see me I am weeping and not –
weeping from the frustration of the immediate impossibility
and unwilling to weep for the total loss.
It is beyond me.

Outside these walls life continues
and regards me with disgust/ indifference/ repulsion.
There is no equality for the ill and disabled.

And, yet….

In this state of rawness, stripped of “life”,
or rather, busy-ness,
I am as any other –

Just a soul trying to having a meaningful existence.

Maybe illness is the great equalizer.








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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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