A normal girl, all alone, head bowed;
the picture of averageness, yet
not at all like the others. Her story is
one tragic event after another that
causes tears to pour like waterfalls
from eyes the color of emeralds;
that causes piercing sobs to tumble
like storm clouds from ruby lips.

The cause of her sorrow is simply that of make believe.
An illusion of false truths, created
by her pallid hands
that says she is fine, alright, healthy.

Perfect.

Though in truth she is not well, nor fine
She is but a leaf of kelp in the windswept sea
where stormy skies clouded by thoughts torment her.
She is but a dying bud, a poisoned tree, her sorrow
killing her even as another doctor says
there is nothing she can do.

Like the titan Atlas, alone in his small corner of the world,
this girl, too, carries the weight of the world
on shoulders too frail, too small, too pitiful to support
the bleak, bleak sky that threatens to come
crashing down at the first sign of weakness.

So too this girl waits, fighting
the pain that wracks her body to the core

So too this girl waits,
for salvation, for healing, for a diagnosis,
and a promise of help
to warm her heart and set a sunny grin on her face.

And so she will go to the next appointment,
go to the next test,
take the new medications,
and pray that maybe, just maybe,
something, anything, will work.

She is but a disabled girl,
plagued with a syndrome unseen
by the eyes of the masses.

And the longer she waits for her answers,
the longer she deals with the angry looks,
and the longer she is discriminated against,
the more fragile hope dies within her.


I wrote this one a while back before I got my diagnosis of Amplified Musculoskeletal Pain Syndrome. It was really hard for me to just keep on going to all these tests that were coming back fine, but still having to be in so much pain. It's a bit dark - I'm in a much better place now - but I think it's important that this old poem sees the light of day.

Written by Shads