I am

I am free form, my cells don’t properly connect, according to the norm, as if I’ve stretched to welcome ocean but with it comes the blue as if particles of broken lives get beneath my paper skin, abrasive, gritty, at times bruising walking on pebbles   and yet, this is coloured in with collective dreams…

Disposed To Be

  They’re kind words, true; difficult times never last forever, this news, not hers, only mine inclined ‘til the bow;   I won’t be OK; incurable, I’ll dazzle like a wave, breaking.   Antonia Sara Zenkevitch   With Thanks for Colleen Cheesbro’s Tanka Tuesday prompt, this week the words were trouble and game and I chose…

Diagnosis 07/02/19

(*this post is about living the diagnostic process of a serious chronic illness and may contain triggers)   They have to rule out worse alternatives But it’s almost definite, As geneticists speak of neurologists Physiotherapists, cardiologists And, if they deign to see me, Rheumatologists, There’s a remote possibility Of the one specialist Rehabilitation place in…