Welcome back everyone. Here is my 48th Crap Poem in my series as part of the COPE Campaign.
It’s been a long week, and unfortunately not a particularly good one either. My difficulty gaining NHS interventions continues, and making contact has become so stressful and unwelcome that I’ve decided to write a poem about it.
Yes, a Crap Poem!
To be honest, this was a way of me venting how I was feeling a few nights ago, and it kind-of prooves why the the theory behind the COPE campaign (Creativity Opposing Painful Existence) is useful and positive. Sometimes the stress of events isn’t something you have a space to let out or voice. Using writing (in this case a poem) does give you a small vent that might be enough to release some of the pressure so you can see and think clearly. From there you can work out what to do next, what help you need, and where to go for it.
Anyway, here is Persistence.
**********
Persistence
My phones
loud beep
will break
my sleep.
My rest
is done.
Eyes wide,
I’m numb.
I wake
each day,
joints tough,
like clay.
I drink
my tea.
New day,
not free.
I ask
myself
“Why does
my health
stop life
to be
at all
pain free?
Who helps
report?
Where’s the
support?”
Phone blasts
once more.
Who’s this?
Ignore?
“Doctor
calling.
What’s been
galling?”
“Where are
you from?”
(He sounds
aplomb).
“I am
a quack
who gives
life back.
What do
you need
to soothe
your swede?”
He sounds
like fun.
Maybe
someone
who will
prescribe
without
a bribe.
We start
the dance.
I take
my chance
to spill
my guts,
my pain,
my cuts.
The facts
fall hard
as time
is passed.
Is he
still there?
Too much
to bear?
I push
along.
I can’t
prolong.
I need
his thoughts.
Will he
escort
me on
this train,
remove
some strain,
and make
me sane?
“What do
you think?
I’m on
the brink.
The aches,
the strains,
have bruised
my brain
Can you
get back
my best
life track?
Make days
feel like
a stroll
not hike?
I’d like
my pride
to swell
inside.
To show
my kids
I’m not
stupid.
My life
has worth.
More to
unearth.
Not just
a fail.
Much more
than frail.”
I take
a beat
Then feel
his heat.
I’m just
a joke
for him
to poke.
Sniggers
get loud.
Back comes
my cloud
“Is this
facile?
‘Cuz I
can’t smile.
And yet
I hear
you grin.
It’s clear!”
He laughs,
I cry.
I don’t
know why.
I plead,
he’s deaf,
I waste
my breath.
My pain
persists.
No care
exists.
Hours will
pass by,
certain
I’ll cry.
As tears
will heap,
At least
I’ll sleep.
My phones
loud beep
will break
my sleep.
**********
Thanks for reading 💜
Creative Steph 