By Edith Kaplan
“It could be worse”, she said
And that is certainly true
But my mind screams back loudly:
“IT COULD BE BETTER TOO!”
“It’s just a cold”, she said
If only that were true
My tearful heart cries out
Oh, if you only knew.
Nothing with this illness is “just”
In many more ways than one
It may be a small sneeze for you
But my whole life comes undone.
The private pain
No one can see
As I watch my life
Fall away from me.
Come back, I plead
I want much more
Not less and less
Than I had before.
“It is what it is”
Some like to say
But platitudes don’t help
Keep the grey away
I must dig deep
Within my core
To find those sparks
Of my life once more
And to accept the fact
That they cannot see
From the land of the healthy
What life’s like for me.
