Fibro Poems
THIS STOLEN SMILE
by Lynette Tate
This stolen smile? Well its “because”
You see a shadow of who I once was,
A crumpled husk of times gone by,
But please look deep,
You’ll see I still try, still have that strength,
Still catch a glimpse of that, once twinkling eye,
Memories of when, I laughed and ran,
And still took life, very much, by the hand.
This stolen smile? Where did it go?
Seems just a memory, of so long ago.
My body now weak; just to live each day,
Needs more strength, than, even I can say.
Concentration, intelligence, what are they
Now that this damned malady is here to stay?
Pain & exhaustion, my constant friends
It just seems so hard at times, to see an end.
This stolen smile? Please don’t judge.
Don’t think I’m lazy, please bear me no grudge.
I’m not depressed, unhappy or sad,
Its just my life is hard, and that can, make me mad.
I do all that I can, still fight from the heart,
But that you can’t see that, just tears me apart
And to tell you the truth, I hope you’ll NEVER Understand,
Because, that for you, is not the life, I would have Planned.
This stolen smile? Really, its NOT my choice,
And for me, just to BE, uses force, I often don’t have,
Though I do often try, and if my smile had a voice,
It would say, that I’m happy and Love you, and Laugh,
But you may find that looking, finds that hard to see,
I just don’t have the energy, to really be me,
I’m still the same person, that I, always was,
Still feisty, and spirited, and happy, not sad,
But my fight now, is in living, this life I now have.
To My Doctor - Anonymous
I am not just a chart number.
I am not "What’s his name".
I'm a living, loving person
With feelings and a brain.
I'll try to answer honestly
And expect the same from you.
Together we will make a team
And we will pull me through.
Fibromyalgia is Real - by Kammy [(c)2004]
Fibromyalgia is real
There is no doubt
If you don't believe me
Here's what it's all about!
It's about being a professional
In the prime of your career
And losing your future
In less than a year!
It's about having unrelenting pain
No one can figure out
Having test after test
That shows nothing but doubt!
It's about knowing your pain is real
And fighting for your rights
Being so upset and frustrated
Getting no sleep for so many nights!
It's about trying to find the right doctor
Who can offer you some hope
Who knows what it's all about
Who can give you what you need to cope!
It's about learning to live again
With a whole new personality
Letting go of the person you once were
And facing a whole new reality!
It's about losing friends and family
Because they think 'it's all in your head'
But truth be known, you're in so much pain
There are days you can't get out of bed!
It's about setting new priorities
'So what if there is dust'
You have to take care of yourself now
And do only what you must!
It's about holding on to hope
Each day could bring the cure
It's holding on to this hope
That can raise your spirits for sure!
It's about being thankful for the few
Friends and family that are true
Believing and hoping for a miracle
And Praying for strength to make it through!
One Small Rose  Author Unknown
I would rather have one small rose
From the garden of a friend
Than to have the choicest flowers
When my stay on Earth must end.
I would rather have one pleasant word
In kindness said to me
Than flattery when my heart is still
And my life on Earth has ceased to be.
I would rather have a loving smile
From friends I know are true
Than tears shed round my casket
When this world I've bid Adieu.
Bring me all your flowers today
Whether pink, white or red:
I'd rather have one blossom now
Than a truckload when I'm dead."
When I Have a Bad Day - by Anne L. Suplee [May 04]
When I have a bad day;
A cool wisp of a breeze,
My skin burns.
When I have a bad day;
The soft glow of a candle,
My eyes hurt.
When I have a bad day;
The quiet patter of spring rain,
My ears ring loudly.
When I have a bad day;
The glorious scent of summer flowers,
My nose sneezes.
When I have a bad day;
The soft squeeze of a friend's hug,
My body screams.
When I have a bad day;
Kind words from a friend,
My spirit soars.
To My Fibro Friends
Unfortunately, I feel your pain
And yes, you feel mine.
Will others understand
Is there enough time?
We can't wear an arm band
Representing all the pain.
We would just be laughed at
Our cause would be in vain.
But we do have each other
To support each other's claim.
So never give up hope
We have way too much to gain.
Hang in there everyone. We know what we each feel. Maybe not to the ultimate extent of each individual person's pain. But we do know that no one understands us as well as someone who walks the same path as we do. God bless you all and may time heal this "thing" called Fibromyalgia.
Blessings,
Barbie B (Iowa)
An Evil Blessing - Kammy Salmon [(C)2004]
"Oh what a shame" they whisper
"She's let this thing ruin her somehow"
"She used to be someone important"
"But just look at her now"
"She could work if she wanted to!"
"Doesn't she care about herself anymore?"
"Well if she would just exercise"
"She would be just like she was before!"
I can hear their every whisper
I can read their every thought
For once, when I was on their side of this
I admit, I said things I should have not!
I was thinking only of my own selfish ambition
And that anyone less than me
Didn't fit in with what was a good definition
Of what a person ought to be!
Then this evil thing called "Fibro"
One day began to take control over me
It changed my body and my inner being
But in some ways it set me free!
For now no longer do I worry
About my own selfish ambitious ways
No longer am I in a hurry
Running around in an endless craze!
I was forced to learn a new way
And to focus on what really counts
To make the time to take care of myself
My former life I had to renounce!
In a way this evil thing has been a blessing
Though the pain and suffering is a curse
And I've had to learn to make do
With less money in my purse!
For I've learned that material things
Aren't what really matter
It's the love, friendship, and family that count
Not climbing the corporate ladder!
I'll make it through this thing
I know it won't last forever
I have family, friends, and my fibrobuddies
We are all in this together!
'My Genetic Code' (a.k.a. 'I Demand A Rewrite')
I missed my toothpaste when I brushed,
and used the dog's instead.
I spritzed hairspray beneath each arm,
then deodorized my head.
My undies were there for all to see,
upon my shirt they hung.
The static cling, it kept them there,
bright pink with purple plums!
The cream that in my coffee went,
turned out to be quite sour.
The clock that keeps my day in tune
was slow at least an hour.
"Off days" can stretch into a week,
some times it's months or more.
My future must be quite a sight,
faux pas and gaffes galore!
It seems my makers missed the pitch,
when my turn came to bat.
One thing's become so very clear:
my genetic code was cracked.
If they'd rewrite those cryptic lines,
one change I would demand:
For flubs and screw-ups I'd like to use
that famed UNDO COMMAND!!
Why Me? - by Rita Shaw [copyright 8/13/02]
I squirm again in my twisted sheets,
praying for just one more slim moment of sleep
before awakening with shards of pain.
Frustration and denial arrive in lockstep,
partnered for the last few years.
Concoctions of brightly hued tablets
are tossed on the pyre of pain, in hopes
that some combination will unlock the secret.
Why me, why now, whose toes did I mash,
that this malady was assigned to my name,
and settled in for a prolonged stay.
Weeks and months pass as the names of specialists
are scratched onto the calendar, and then checked off...
another useless trip, more tests with no answers.
Is this karma, payback from times past when
I denied warning pangs with youthful disregard?
Abandoning all hope of sleep, I scuffle to the kitchen
and with fragrant hubby-made coffee in hand,
head that shady spot on the front porch,
the nook padded with cushions and today's paper.
Pain medications are lined up in military rows
to be deposited in the daily pill box that has proven
to be my unfaithful companion, offering no solace,
simply dulling of both mind and body.
A gentle breeze brings the scent of jasmine,
and mocking birds forging trills of warblers and jays.
A child giggles as three generations of women
pass by the lavender and rosemary lining the front wall.
An infant lies softly in her mother's arms,
swaddled in pastels in vivid contrast to the brilliance
of her grandmother's shawl and her sister's skirt,
poignant reminders of my daughter, states away.
Yesterday's mail revealed laughter and chaos,
skimpily clad children splashed in the wading pool
to hold back the heat of the Minnesota sun,
caught in photos brimming over with all but sound.
I see my daughter's face, vigilant for a slip of foot,
yet reveling in the exhilaration of her quintet...
yielding flashes of her childhood when I stood guard
over the four of mine, romping in a copycat pool.
Why me? Why not? Luck of the draw, yes?
Better I than my tumbling grand-ones,
or the father laboring on the roof across the way,
skin gleaming as his hammer drums a beat,
and the stacks of shingles transform themselves
into orderly lines of soft grey shields against winter rains.
Better I than the infant slumbering in peace
through scents and songs along our garden wall.
In time, perhaps the pain will ebb into memories past
Until then, tho... better I than they.
Those thoughts alone ease the muscles,
and my body relaxes in the heat of the sun.
A mockingbird bathes in the waterfall,
reminding me to stop by the pond for a glimpse
of the bullfrogs who grace our evenings
with their own unique humthrums of love.
Why me? No reason... life just is.
No plot or magic curse lies hidden.
But laughter and beauty still swirl
through quiet wonders in every day.
Someday perhaps science will unlock the key,
and all those in pain will at last be healed.
Till then, these sunsplashed moments
infuse my days with tranquility beyond measure.
'Ode to FibroFog' - by Mojo1 *** I cant remember ***
Just a note to say I’m still living
That I’m not among the dead
Though I’m getting more forgetful
And mixed up in the head.
I've got used to being tired
I get it all the time
I can manage my frustration
But, Oh God, I miss my mind.
For sometimes I can’t remember
When I stand at the foot of the stairs
If I must go up for something
Or have I just come down from there.
And before the fridge so often
My poor mind’s filled with doubt
I have just put food away
Or have I come to take it out.
And there are many times when it’s dark
With my night-cap on my head
I don’t know if I’m retiring
Or just getting out of bed.
So, if it’s my turn to write to you
There’s no need for getting sore
I may think that I have written
And don’t want to be a bore.
So, remember I’m always thinking of you
And wish that you lived near
But its nearly mail time
So, I must say goodbye my dear.
There I stand before the mail box
With my face so very red
Instead of mailing my letter to you
I opened it instead......
HOW ARE YOU?
HELLO MY GOOD FRIEND,
I'm Fine - How are you?
There's nothing the matter with me,
I'm just as healthy as can be.
I have arthritis in both knees,
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze.
My pulse is weak, my blood is thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
All my teeth have had to come out,
And my diet I hate to think about.
I'm overweight and I can't get thin,
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
And arch supports I need for my feet.
Or I wouldn't be able to go out in the street.
Sleep is denied me night after night,
But every morning I find I'm all right.
My memory's failing, my head's in a spin.
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
Old age is golden I've heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder, as I go to bed.
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
And my glasses on a shelf, until I get up.
And when sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself,
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?
The reason I know my Youth has been spent,
Is my get-up-and-go has got-up-and-went!
But really I don't mind, when I think with a grin,
Of all the places my get-up has been.
I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the paper and read the obits.
If my name is missing, I'm therefore not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and jump back into bed.
The moral of this as the tale unfolds,
Is that for you and me, who are growing old.
It is better to say "I'm fine" with a grin,
Than to let people know the shape we are in.
Fatigue Lament
Oh, 'tis such a paradox, as I lie upon my bed, a pillow caresses my head.
The sweet oblivion of sleep eludes me;
My eyelids are heavy, my mind is at rest, yet I cannot sleep.
My limbs are like jelly, my brain will not think, my limbs will not move me.
Oh, would that I sleep and awaken so refreshed;
Fresh as a daisy, bright as the sun, but I am undone.
So, I sit and I stare at the air, nothing moves me.
I am swathed like a babe, within a soft, white cloud; so limp, so still.
Outside, the children frolic, the birds sing,
The puppies romp in the grass, the kittens chase butterflies,
And the flowers dance in the soft, balmy breeze.
While here I am with unwanted ease and I am sad.
Let me frolic with the puppies, let me sing with the birds,
Let me chase the butterflies, let me feel the soft, balmy breeze on my face.
I am also glad, I can go within and be there.
I can remember, I am alive.
Therefore, I am not undone.
Sandra Koprowski
Copyright ©2002 Sandra Koprowski
Forgetters and Rememberers! - Anon
My forgetter's getting better,
but my rememberer is broke.
To you that may seem funny -
But to me, it is no joke.
For when I'm 'here' I'm wondering
If I really should be 'there',
And when I try to think it through
I haven't got a prayer.
Oft times I walk into a room
Say 'What am I here for?'
I wrack my brain, but all in vain.
A zero is my score.
At times I put something away
where it is safe, but gee!
The person it is safest from
is generally me!
When shopping I may see someone,
Say 'Hi' and have a chat.
Then, when the person walks away
I think 'Who on earth was that?'
Yes, my forgetter's getting better,
while my rememberer is broke.
It's driving me plumb crazy,
and that isn't any joke.
Pain by Claire Rose
Pain is all consuming
Pain makes you think.
Pain takes your life away
In ways you wouldn’t think.
Pain makes you learn about
What is wrong and right.
Pain is the darkness and
Pain is the light.
Pain is good and pain is bad
But most of all pain makes me very sad.
Poems by Joan Chappell
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