Not another spasmodic, painful episode again
Trying hard to not make a humongous deal of it
All the time I smile, they are just out of control my spasms and I feel insane
At least I am able to write poetry in my discomfort and feeling so shit
They are hurting, so every single spasm is getting a little bit worse than before
I have to smile throughout these spasms, of the whole of my body
I will overdose if I any more medication. I am going to be very tender and sore
I have to power through it, this horrible time for being totally embody
I panic a lot at this moment of anxiety and agony, but I’m still trying to be positive
With my lovely big sister by my side, she makes me feel better and not so uptight
You know what type of energy and emotionally my heart’s content is coming through negative
My lovely big sister is here to support me, she has made everything much more bright
With my big sister by my side, giving her absolute support and encouragement
I am always managed through, with her being here with me as loving supporting me
Through with my problems, I wish her kindness and happiness I wish to make them into edible supplements
These are what I need in the real life to completely heal me, but only instead it will happens only in my dreams
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Author:
4wheels (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 11th, 2026 06:34
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments2
A poem of pain and suffering and gritting one's teeth to get through it. Well written
Strangely, what stayed with me first wasn’t the pain itself, but the insistence on smiling through it. That contrast—agony pressing in while a forced brightness tries to hold the line—gives this verse its raw nerve. The body here feels like an unruly territory, spasms turning it into something hostile, yet the mind keeps reaching for language, almost as if poetry is the last safe posture left.
I’m struck by how honest the exhaustion is: the fear of medication, the dread of tomorrow’s soreness, the quiet resolve to “power through.” Nothing is romanticized. And then, right when the verse could collapse entirely into isolation, your sister enters—not as a miracle cure, but as presence. That steadiness, that shared space, becomes its own kind of relief, even if only temporary.
The ending feels especially tender to me: kindness imagined as something edible, something that could nourish and heal, even if it exists only in dreams for now. There’s a fragile hope there, bruised but breathing. This reads like someone writing from inside the storm, not after it—and that immediacy makes the verse ache and glow at the same time.
I should also say I’m quite new on this site, still finding my footing. Whenever you have the time, feel free to slide into my profile and read a few of my pieces—I’d genuinely love that.
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