Category: Anthology (Page 2 of 11)

‘TWENTY FOUR SEVEN’, by Hedgehog

May 12, 2019 / Sara Wasson

I am your pain.
Like Puck; quicksilver, impish, mischief-making.
You’re easily fooled, you make my nonsense real, you feel what is not true.
I stab and prickle, or transform into
A metal straitjacket, squeezing your foot, your leg.
Imprisoned.
Around each toe, elastic bands pulled tight.
You call me neuropathy; I say there’s no such thing,
Your foot, your leg, your left side, are my playthings.
When you sit quiet or sleep, I perch on your bed,
Waiting for you to move, when I will strike
Half-numb, like an injection in the gum where you can’t smile or chew,
Half feather-sensitive, you jump awake
When the duvet’s pulled so gently by a sleeping partner; he is unaware
That you lie, struggling to relax, to breathe it out, make it go away…
But I don’t leave. I will never leave.
I control. I rule you. I am king.

by Hedgehog

Wales

‘PHOTOTHERAPY’, by Angi Holden

May 9, 2019 / Sara Wasson

She stands uncertainly inside the cubicle, exposed to light from a dozen UV tubes.

Machinery hums softly, the seconds tick away.

A narrow slit connects her to the outside world.

Friends have seen her skin, inflamed and bleeding, her swollen eyelids. She hasn’t mentioned synapse pain, the 2am, 3am, 4am explosions waking her, holding back the edge of sleep, just out of reach.

She hears the hum die down; the door swings open.

Gentle hands steady her, lift the visor, remove her goggles.

Back on terra firma, the treatment room, she dresses slowly.

The techie’s voice reminds her to shower cool, to wear soft clothes, to moisturise.

‘Let me know if you are sore, just call.’

She wonders what she’s done to deserve such kindness or is this simply how the world should be?

And even though her treatment’s hardly started something breaks inside. She dreads its ending.

by Angi Holden

twitter: @josephsyard

‘The skin I wear’ by Wendy Jones

May 7, 2019 / Sara Wasson

The skin I wear

The skin I wear is a covering
for my bones and flesh
and I’m glad it holds it in
but wonder sometimes
why and sigh
about the pain I’m in.
It’s not as if I’ve fallen
or didn’t watch where I was going,
I was plodding on quite well I thought
and tried to do what I’d been taught –
I enjoyed it all in a way.
Can I use a vacuum cleaner?
Why do you ask? I used to
work full time and be the breadwinner
and I can’t help wondering whether
you would have asked that of a man.
I can somehow think you know
I’m still here in a way,
I think so, anyway.

by Wendy Jones

Wales

Further information

‘hello pain let’s dance!’ by Wendy Jones

May 7, 2019 / Sara Wasson

Hello pain let’s dance!

Hello pain let’s dance together
and cry a melody
Just you and me forever
which dance is it to be?
A boogie or a waltz
a tango or some jiving?
Whatever the rhythm
It’s time to do some living

The violinist’s bow
hews across its strings
The drummer’s sticks do beat
upon his drum
sweet notes emanate
a squeezing heartache
Across the room
A trumpet sighs do come

She moves her body slow
To the echo of the bow
The rhythm of the beat
Won’t knock her down
Her back she keeps it straight
And feet they will not wait
But trip along and step
The bright life into town

She feels a country breeze
That puts her at her ease
Her spirits rise until they fly away
Birdsong in the trees
Falling from their leaves
And butterflies are coming out to play.

by Wendy Jones

Wales

More information: https://poetryatnightblog.wordpress.com/

‘I feel the music’ by Wendy Jones

May 7, 2019 / Sara Wasson

I feel the music

This orchestra of mine
I jest your intimacy
Embracing every shard
With love and warmth
But should you say goodbye
And leave me before I die
I shall stand and run and dance
To an air of triumph!

But should you chance to be
With me ‘til the end
No matter if we both
Entwine the undergrowth
And lie together meekly
Til the last note gently
Fades away…

by Wendy Jones

Further information: https://poetryatnightblog.wordpress.com/

‘hey Leah’ by socks

May 3, 2019 / Sara Wasson

hey Leah ive been worried about you. theres this site i want you to see, ive been putting poems on there about chronic pain. you dont have to do this alone.

by socks

England

‘there’s a metaphor here but im too tired to find it…’ by socks

May 3, 2019 / Sara Wasson

morphine tastes nasty, ive called it ‘the devil’s cough syrup’ before. it’s sickly sweet and cloying, but you know what’s Weird? when you first take that spoonful into your mouth, it’s not that bad. not great, it’s still medicine, but it’s tolerable. only when you attempt to swallow it does it make its true terribleness known.

by socks

England

‘Premature Ovarian Failure’, by S. L. Shuter

March 8, 2019 / Sara Wasson

It’s 2am and my body is on fire. Every cell is boiling. Sweat creeps from my pores. It only takes a moment to soak through my favourite t-shirt, then through the sheets and mattress covered in yellow imprints.

I can’t get any fucking sleep. This happens to me every night, up to ten times. Then 40 times a day, no matter the season.

I’m a comedian, but it’s near impossible to make people laugh when my body is transforming against my will. When I’m furious about an illness 50% of the population will never experience while the other 50% will understand it 20+ years after me. Isolated because no doctor out of my team of 7 can determine exactly why it is I went into menopause at 28. Depressed because they know little about a condition that under 1% of the female population develops.

This is my life now.

by S. L. Shuter

Canada

twitter: @Set_LS

‘Superheroes in PJs’, by Grae Salisbury

March 2, 2019 / Sara Wasson

This is shocking.

I am not an object and I am not broken but

the pain tells me differently.

This is chronic.

Why am I not adjusted yet?

It comes and goes, it’s all my consciousness

all I want is to lie down.

And when I come into work I lie about my days off.

Why do I look tired? Maybe,

that’s just how I look. Maybe,

they think I am just not very ‘together’…

This invisible pain cannot be talked about because that will only make work relations worse-

because they never know how to interact with me after, but

my anxiety aches like the bits between my legs.

I am not used to this.

I am managing well and privately proud, but sometimes

I wish they all knew.

I guess all superheroes probably feel like this sometimes.

I bet there’s a lot of us.

by Grae Salisbury

Canada
Instagram: @jellybeancomix