Who owns this body? It can't be mine.
If it is then who has taken all functionality away from it?
Who gave me this broken body? Did they exchange theirs for mine while I was sleeping one night?
So many bits of it don't work as they should.
They hurt.
They let me down when I want them to do something.
If I had to examine my body and find the fully functioning parts I would be hard pressed to do so today.
Oh wait a moment , my hands are working. They are typing this, slowly but nevertheless that must mean they at least are working..
My knees are most definitely not my knees. They are swollen and they are sore. Sharp pains work their way around them.
No , they can't be mine surely?
My back is someone elses isn't it?
It hurts and it won't move where I want it to. That must prove it isn't my back.
My neck must belong to someone else, it doesn't want to hold my head upright. If it was my neck it would do wouldn't it?
This must be a neck for a smaller person.
I do wish they would give me my neck back.
My legs you ask? Well they too belong elsewhere.
My legs wouldn't let me down so much I am certain.
MY legs would hold me and walk for me and not be sore all the time.
My legs would dance and walk long distances.
They would pirouette every day.
My hands can go back to their owner while we are at it. They must have taken mine while I composed my sentences.
My hands would spin beautifully all the time. They would feel the fibre as it slips through my fingers.
They wouldn't be numb and they surely wouldn't fumble with the yarn I want to make.
They would knit without locking up and they would not have lumps and bumps.
They wouldn't look like old ladies hands, arthritic and gnarled.
Would they?
My mind is MOST certainly my own. Phew well that is a relief then:)
The musings and meanderings of a mixed media artist and yarn junkie who loves to knit,spin, crochet, make a mess, write and enjoy life. I try to follow the wheel of the year and enjoy each day of it. My art reflects that spiritual journey.
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Poetry for Brigid Imbolc
The Lake Isle of Innisfree BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay a...
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I thought I'd have a little contest to lighten up the damp dark days we are having:) and also as a way of thanking you for the good thou...
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I am giving away the above yarn. There is over 300gm in the 2 skeins of Wollmeise you see before you. I've started a shawl, pattern i...
3 comments:
{{{{{{hugs}}}}}. When I was in real pain (many years ago now) I found that lighting a scented candle and concentrating on the small and the flame helped, as it switched my focus a little bit to other senses. It took the edge off the pain, no more than that, but very little helps. Thinking of you.
Oh Amber! Whether or not you intended it, you have written a poignant piece of poetry there.
Your mind is most definitely your won and you must celebrate that every day!
Gentle bone-friendly hugs!
Very poetic Amber Accurate too and suits me as well :-( Thinking of you :-)
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