NaPoWriMo 2013 - late poem.
The curtains may be closed
When you walk through the door,
As you make your way to your job.
My laying in bed until 9:53
Does not make me a slob.
Pain so intense and so deep within me
Still not numbed or held back
Keep me from sleeping the hours I ought.
Your assumptions from what? Conjecture and ignorance?
Perhaps you should learn some forethought
Because, when you say, "You LOOK fine",
A chill runs down my spine
And it's clear you've never been like this;
You don't know how I hurt, and don't see when I cry,
I'm not exaggerating or taking the piss
Out of "the system", or you,
Or my doctor or consultant specialist,
When I sit on the sofa at home.
I ask for some help from my Mum, "I can't move",
Once again, it's my fucked-up bloody womb.
If I walk to the shops,
Or visit a friend,
Or dare to be bold and wear lipstick,
I am not cured of pain, and I am not "right as rain".
I am floating on codeine, you dipstick.
Illness but no wounds,
And no tubes or devices
Betray the truth of my shitty condition.
I want to be a worker
So don't dare call me a shirker
And forget your misplaced and mistimed contrition.
I can try to cover dark circles
Beneath my heavy eyes
But the damage you'll never see
Of what endo does to me,
Because it's invisible, hidden deep inside.