Pain, pain GO AWAY,
Come again some other day.
I don’t want to sit here bitchin’,
I need to crack on with my stitchin’.
I’ve got a pile of WIPs to do,
How can I, when I’m feelin’ poo?
My head is pounding, kids are yelling
Even my name, I’m strugglin’ spelling
The house is a tip, the washing piled high
Visitors call, they wonder why.
The reason you see is my spoons are low,
It’s difficult cos I don’t CHOOSE to go slow.
My pain is restrictive, distracting, intense
I’m grumpy, I’m weepy, I mean no offense.
The sun outside shining up high in the air
I want to take kids out and play without care.
I love them so deeply I don’t want want an excuse
To justify why I’m almost a recluse,
But whatever I do I must calculate well
or tomorrow and rest of the week will be hell.
For ONCE, to wake up and have spoons to spare,
Hopes of mornings like this I do not dare
Cos my pain is part of me, love it or not.
I’m not perfect or flawless, I am what I’ve got.
Maybe one day I’ll wake up, not need to count spoons
And run around giggling, real fast, like a loon.
Without fear of tomorrow or later tonight
When my spoons suddenly vanish, far far from my sight.
For now, I will settle for patience enough
To not be bad tempered with those that I love.
Inspired by The spoon theory explanation of “Invisible Illness”