* This poem is dedicated to Cait, who is one of the strongest people I know. 🙂
Every day starts the same.
I take my injection and imagine
that it is filled with light
instead of medication.
I look at the clear liquid
and try to see sparkles within.
As the needle enters my skin,
I picture it filling my body
with the sweetest of songs,
a lilting melody that is left over
from my dreams the night before.
When that is done, I take out
my pill case. Inside are a multitude
of pills that I take each day.
I look down at the multi-coloured shapes
and, as I take each one,
I look at them not as more mediation,
but magic given form and shape.
As each one slides down my throat,
it releases its magic inside of me,
filling me so full with glitter dust
that it has no choice but
to shine out from me.
Then I look at the jar on the counter.
It is filled with the number of spoons
that I get that day. The number can
increase or decrease, depending on
how strongly the sparkle filled injection
and the magic pills are working,
how strong my body is, or how strong
the symptoms are that reside within me.
Sometimes, there are seven or eight,
other times, there are only three or four.
A few times there have been ten or eleven.
Each spoon is a different shape;
some are smooth and shiny while others
are heavy antiques, blackened and waiting
for my fingers to clean them until
they can shine once more.
I put a spoon aside for each task
that I have to do that day.
When I am out of spoons,
I know it is time to rest, to recharge, to regroup.
I am thankful for my life
of needles, pills and spoons.
I have had to learn the hard way
that every day is a new journey
and a chance to start again.
A chance to be grateful and thankful.
Every night, when I go to sleep,
I wonder how many spoons I will get
the next morning after I take my needle and pills.
When I finally do fall asleep,
it is to a soft, lilting melody
that I can only hear in my dreams.