I'm 26 with RA and wrote a poem to help grieve who I once was

Let her be, she'd rather be sleeping..

Her dreams are far more lovely than her conscious, silent weeping..

But when she wakes, she's reminded too quickly, of the prison she's living in..

Her own body, how could that be?

It's turned against her and is the cause of her suffering, but no one can tell on the outside.

She must be bluffing..

When she was a little girl, her first sentence was "Me do."

Perhaps her pride was not something she'd choose.

But give her credit where credit is due.

She's been masking this pain for years...

But recently the swelling has been more painful than the tears.

She's not giving up, no, she's still much too prideful for that.

She's just desperately searching for something to get her back on track.

She opens her eyes and begins the day, the same as the last.....

With a single tear for who she was in her past.

<3

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