You look well!

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.

Travelling poetry bag shops.

Travelling poetry bag shops -
I don't think I've seen one before.
Often I've wondered
How poetry travels,
Steam train or maybe Concorde?
Horse and carriage! Or pony and trap?
Or stowed away on a goods-laden boat?
Would it all be too heavy,
All the letters and ink?
Or would it all simply rise up and float?
It may hover and circle,
Hanging up high,
Watching, resting, waiting.
It might be sent through the post,
But by gold class or second?
It'd probably just be gold-plating.
The attire it sports
Could be classy and light,
And be elegant with, maybe, a hat.
Travelling poetry bag shops aren't real;
Two comic masters invented that.

Daydreamer.

NaPoWriMo 2013 - part five. Day five. Yay me. Etc..

Caffeine, crocheting, and codeine.
Which one do I like the most?
Caffeine keeps me awake,
Crocheting keeps my hands active,
Codeine keeps pain from making me shake
From the burning,
And piercing,
And stabbing inside.

I daydreamed, as a child,
Of what I would do
When I could work and drive,
When I'd said, "Goodbye" to my youth.
Alas, none of it's happened,
At least, not so far.
Some days, I feel lost
To endo, but my Ma
Helps me, always,
To attend more hospital visits,
And picks up my repeat prescriptions,
Answers people asking, "Ohh, what is it?"
When I struggle to breathe
I try to call for my Mum
Because there's a little-known language
Understood by just one
Other person (excluding me).

If not for my Mum and Dad,
I don't know how I would live
When some days I can not walk
And she tells me there is nothing she would not give
To see her little girl free of all this pain.
While she lifts me from the floor,
I hold her as tightly as I can,
Knowing the sofa is, once more
My destination for the day
And the woe is just too much
And I wish I'd never woken up.

Crocheting helps me create,
The caffeine helps to revive.
But neither can ease the heaviness in my heart,
Because I know I need codeine to survive.

Dead Happy.

NaPoWriMo 2013 - part four. Day five. Damn...

Who wins
When horses die
After jumping hedges
With the risk they'll lie
Still and quiet, while
The jockey gets up,
And one of those people
Will lift a cup, and
The trainers get money,
The gamblers get paid,
But do gamblers care
Where the horse is finally laid?

Nanopoem.

NaPoWriMo 2013 - part three. Day three.

Sweet peas
And roses,
Together
In posies.

Stuck with
The posies
By blankets
And Rosie.

Another old yarn...

NaPoWriMo 2013 - part two. Day two.

Needles and hooks
And wools and yarns
Form flowers and stems
And bring aches in my arms
Crafting leaves of green
And petals of pinks
I need more caffeine!
I must plan and think
Of the rainbow delights
In my scarf (with some glitter).
It's a bit like The Doctor's...
I'll debut it on twitter!

My vow to complete it,
And not leave it unfinished
Remains a real promise to myself;
I shan't let it diminish
Or become another attempt
To occupy my mind,
To be productive, to do STUFF,
I will not just let it lie
In a bag in a cupboard
With the needles and hooks
And the yarns and the wools,
And I WILL read those books... probably...

Regrets.

NaPoWriMo2013 - part one. On day two. Oops.

I don't profess to be a poet, or to be capable of writing a poem with any skill or reverence. I loved doing the NaNoWriMo in 2011, and wanted to take part, again, last year but I didn't feel able to do it because of a certain Noristerat injection, which caused suicidal thoughts, along with the too-familiar depression and anxiety. It didn't help my endometriosis symptoms much, either. Failed treatment number 423.
So, then, here is my first "bit" to be followed, hopefully, by more. I may or may not post each poem I cobble together.


Words were never enough
To explain my gratitude
For the precious time and care and kindness
Lisa continuously showed
To me, my Mum, my family,
To people she'd never met.
That kindness never waned
And I shan't ever forget
How tightly she held me when I felt
I had to leave the party, because
My anxiety built and I had to get out
But immediately, I wished I'd stayed inside
To spend more precious time with her.

I crocheted her some flowers,
And made a card or two
Because I felt I had to do something
But I just didn't know what to do.
I still feel I should have said or done more
But what? I don't know. Do you?

My sub-standard health can take over, and
Days, and weeks, and months seem to
Disappear like vapour, leaving me
Wondering, "What the hell happened?
I've done nothing and been nowhere".

Notebooks were opened and
Many sentences begun with hopes of
Train journeys to London and
Exciting days with friends, but that
Optimism has been crossed out.
I've rewritten and ended
Those sentences and lists
Of where I want to go,
But there's always a part of my mind reminding me
It's hard for my body,
Which I always know.

Last week was hard,
For my body and for my mind,
Riding on trains and buses,
Seeing recognisable skylines.
I was in a busy, cold, and unfamiliar city,
Familiar faces were there,
Heads down, crying, sitting
Together for their hardest day yet.
So much love, and devotion,
Compassion, and grief
For a woman so wondrous,
So funny, and passionate,
So loving, so generous.

It's the middle of the night,
And here I sit, tapping my phone
All alone but for a cat and insomniacs' news.
I'm piling hope upon hope that my sleep might arrive soon.
Lisa was the one who inspired me to write,
To begin my blog about depression,
And endo, to talk about my life as it really is,
And through it, I learned
New ways of "self-expression",
I learned new ways of writing and "met" people
I never would've before,
And if that's all she gave me
I'd be grateful, but there's so much more
She maybe never knew she did for me,
For my Mum and my Dad.
I can't thank her now, but I wish, more than words can say,
That I had.