the smell of my desperation has become a stench

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the smell of my desperation has become a stench

mosquitos

The bad news about a wet winter

Thus spoke the travel clinic, and I kind of paid attention

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By the end of June my pain had become a typhoon of

By the end of June my pain had become a typhoon of ache
Joints in crooked shapes that don’t exist
And I had to resist an obsession with the worst

In November they misread my blood
I know I’m not the first
But this

This is a flood of agony

Please don’t yell at me

She touched my knuckle and rubbed my wrist
And I was wistful for as much as a finger on my hand
The warmth, the outline of her thumb as she scanned the map of my arm
The pressure of a sonogram hugging my elbow
Will anyone ever know the ache

To be touched in pain
How I hid the shake of my chest as she pressed into my knee
To see
To see

My skin and bones
They were all yellow
.
.
.
.
Took six months to get an appointment with a rheumatologist. Results are... hmm... trying to find the right word so that it’s not confusing...

I guess I’m just a bit devastated.

Thank you for sticking with me through all of this. You are all lovely humans.

❤️🦴

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