literature

Autoimmune

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Published:
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Literature Text

Monday morning paralysis

muscles unyielding - locked into place.

My heart…

is stalled and stuttering.

I…

am

breathless

choking

 

Wednesday afternoon I dropped my pen

fingers rebelling, rigid and tingling.

My will…

is bent

and

      br

      o

             k

     e

                        n

 

Chasing a February sunrise

through eyes robbed of slumber

body starved of rest.

My throat…

is parched and lazy

I…

can’t

swallow this whole.

Late summer sun beats down upon my face

through my hospital room window.

My hope…

is reaching up

but…

    fa

          l

     t

  e

        r

           ing

 

I missed the brilliance of Autumn

because I couldn’t walk outside.

My legs…

wracked with crippling tremors.

I…

am

helpless.

 

Winter weather and white pills

to soothe my "mental illness."

My mind…

is sharp and clear.

No!

I

am not

crazy!

 

I am alive but jaded, afraid to only hope

and no scientist or surgeon will even look at me.

My health…

is a mystery

My Body…

worn and weary.

I

am 

still fighting.

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Congratulations NormalIdeal !!!!!  I hope you like what I've done.  :)

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Comments24
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Metalclawwarrior's avatar
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Overall
:star::star::star::star::star: Vision
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Originality
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Technique
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Impact

This has two tones to it. At first the writer started out to be slowly torn apart and broken. Gradually weakinging and basically just losing himself. Then he is relaint on doctors as he doesn't believe he can keep it up. But then.. He realizes out of no where that he can and will still fight. I like how you made a slow and gradual process the person goes through. You using the seasons in the story is intriguing and unique. And the words that are going down one by one give it a sad sense to it. It is a all out emotional poem with fighting spirit