Fighting Through

I am still locked in this battle

of scraping

out a life while 

trying to fold in

almost 20-different medications;

some to keep back a 17 year old

dance with the disease

a few still call a cleansing act from God

to weed out the Forsaken,

capsules to help stop the shakes,

nerve damage, muscle atrophy 

and traffic pile-up stabbings

of pain

left over as I moved 

from pill to pill

(some say),

or the virus has become

an out of control

whirling dervish,

crashing inside me

and not bothering to pick up

any table, ligament

or lamp

off the floor.

And even this setting

has become old,

and all the plot-points

now stale

and borderline cliche

when people ask

how I am,

and I forget 

I do not need to be honest,

just happy that they

remembered my name.

My legs tripped up on me

(or simply took a break

from working)

so now I have 

one more gash on my forehead

that will probably

turn into yet another scar

(and maybe a couple 

cracked/broken ribs

to hammer any questions

or denials into 

tiny, precious pieces 

scattered into dust

scattered into an objective wind)

that I will have to explain away

when the concerned ask.

Anyways. . . . . .

{I spent most of this night watching old video blogs on Rosie.com, wondering if the poem really ever got to her. If she read and enjoyed it simply, without thinking that any

attempts/thoughts of "big breaks" were attached, or if I should have told her that

it was the first real poem that I had created in a year, and how much hope that gave me.}

{But we all have more important things in our lives, ya know. Right now, I am just on a slow upward climb over medications and infections to get to mine. And today, I want to climb. Today I want to feel my body and mind stretch and strain as I show anyone who might look that today, today I choose to accept and fight against these so-called "strikes." Today I cannot think of things like Surrender. I have seen all those who surrendered, and I think some got their panels added to the NAMES quilt this year."}

{There is still so much of me that I do not like: choices, actions, things I have done or said and the shame of it all makes the tears burst out of me and Gravity send me to my knees. I have had mornings when I cannot face the world with a body full of aches and pain and night sweats, so I do my damnedest to separate from reality by retreating into my apartment and staying away from things like hygiene or getting dressed.}

{And I still cannot look into a mirror and see the "handsome and sexy (other's words, not mine)" others compliment me about. . . But I am trying.}

{God help me, I am going get a life back before any "crumbling of dirt," or "folding of cloth."}