Fibro is erosive. It can make me feel like a layer of sediment averse to settling.
It’s a pain with no prognosis; a seeping uncertainty.
It’s an erratic child, demanding attention and zapping my positivity.
It’s paralyzingly unpredictable.
It’s feeling shit out of luck and ride the waves when they come.
It’s most detrimental to the ones I love.
It’s not knowing your body or when it will cooperate. It’s fear in making plans,
and learning to be comfortable in losing them.
It’s a hardened existence, and one I live.
It doesn’t seek to be understood, and so I fear I never will be.