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Echoes from the past

I was looking for a very old philosophy article I wrote and came across some very, very old poetry I wrote. I seriously hoard this stuff. Never throw away written work. Except when i was spring cleaning I did a little. Anyway, I'm going to share it with you. Let you know what I felt about FM back in the day. I didn't have chronic migraines then. Sort of poetic reflections. Poetry and writing a journal being ways to sort out the feelings we have about our illness.


Everyone has to work,
     I writhe in pain.
Everyone has to sleep,
     I twist and turn again.
Everyone has to get up,
     It is driving me insane.


I'm so tired. 
Too tired for school today. 
I'm too tired. 
Too tired for work today. 
There goes life slippen away. 

 I'm so weary. 
Too weary to lift my head. 
I'm too weary. 
Too heavy to get out of bed. 
There goes life slippen away. 

 Life has slipped way. 
I can't even make the day. 
Here I am going nowhere, 
No energy to spare. 

I remember me

I remember movement,
            Without pain.
I remember sleeping,
            Without waking.
I remember thinking,
            Without blundering.
I remembering learning,
            Without forgetting.
I remember living,
            Without tiring.
I remember vaguely
            What I no longer am.

I am movement,
With pain unrelenting.
I am half awake,
When I sleep
I am half asleep,
When awake.
I am forgetting to remember,
What I forgot.
I am weary,
Of being tired.
I am Fibromyalgia.

And I have no clue where this one came from at a young age given the lack of wrinkles even now...


That’s where the worries go
            Like tears that flow through
                        edges and crevices     
To map our faces with sorrow and woes.
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