My Body


On the outside, I am smiling, like a singular ray of sun, and the crowds all laugh at my jokes, and boast of how I'm fun.
They look into my eyes, and see nothing but the glee I use as my mask, never knowing that this smile I paint on is my hardest task.

If they dove down deep, beneath the surface of my skin, they'd understand what I go through, they'd see it all begin.
The fire in my muscles, that persistent burning flame, is how I know it's coming, and what should take the blame.

The body goes into combat, and rounds up all it's fighters, but the pain is far too heated now, like 1000 lit up lighters. It surges down my ribs, and wraps itself in rings around my thighs, but I'm too busy playing clown, it's too late to hear my cries.
My skin feels hot too touch, like a kettle that's hit peak, but instead of hearing a whistling noise, I only have an internal shriek. My brain starts to fog over, and my memory like a foggy October morning, and I have no control of when it happens, and never a prior warning. What normally seems simple, becomes quite the task, but like I said earlier, that's why I'm forced to wear this mask.

My jaw is tightening, like a vice against the wood, I'm far from okay, but it's easier to pretend I'm good. No one ever listens, and if they do, they can't ever understand, If I look well and I'm talking, I must be feeling grand.

My emotions are bubbling, the happiness slips away, I start to think long term, and how my future looks so grey. I think of when I'm older, and how I'll manage to cope, and I can feel the tears building up and the familiar lump in my throat.
I take myself somewhere private, to escape my own external pretence, and let the barriers come down, knock down the walls and the fence. The tears hurt my cheeks, and just heighten the pain I'm feeling, but there's no way to stop them , I'm surprised I'm not yet squealing.

The fire in my body is steadily consuming all parts now, and I desperately want to stop it, but I have no idea how. Imagine a forest fire, the smoke taking over the summer air, but there's no fire men present and no one else seems to care, and you stand at your bedroom window and watch the flames travel towards your house, all them huge roaring flames make you feel as small as a field mouse. You're screaming out and begging, hanging out of the window hoping for help, but there's no one else for miles and no one can hear you yelp.

My fingers and toes twitch, with confusion and distress, my breathings getting shallower, and my thoughts are just a mess. But it's strange, when I get to this stage of the flare, it's almost like I'm too drained to even give a care. Like I'm sat out at sea, with just a rubber ring, and my only view is sight is a closing in shark fin... but I don't panic, I know there's nothing I can do, I just have to sit tight and pray I make it through.

  • Author: G F L (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: September 26th, 2018 12:37
  • Comment from author about the poem: My personal struggle this time , with a auto immune disease I struggle with, but a great deal lately
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 15
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