The Centipede (Poem)

The Centipede
(My Poem About Irritable Bowel Syndrome)
Let me enlighten you of the centipede.
She was ingested by me, as an egg, at a point in which I do not know.
She has a will, on which very few can impede.
I search, in vain, for actions that don’t make her grow.
These bowels—only for her bidding—
ceased from their original function.
To life’s simplest of pleasures, she does no permitting.
Because of her slaughter, there’s no longer a “brain and gut” junction.
Her legs make tiny tears inside,
trekking me from one end to the other.
But, she has no troubles where she resides.
Her damages escape the naked eye;
There’s no evidence to blow her cover.
Her venom can have me stuffed for weeks.
It’s easy to ingest, but it’ll refuse to leave.
Sometimes no matter how hard this man prays,
my compacted insides leave no hope to perceive.
When I find those whom can help me fight,
in her coward nature, she flees.
She’s boroughs deep to avoid camera lights.
My suffering is what no man or woman believes.
My restless nights are nothing.
People say, “Come on!” “Be tough!”
“You don’t know real suffering.”
“People with cancers truly have it rough.”
It’s as if I don’t need sleep to work,
or need work for pay,
or as if I don’t need pay for food, medicine, transportation, and shelter.
I hear the jerks
say impolitely, “Your pooping problem will be okay.”
There’s no dating,
not with her jaws in my side.
There’s no mating,
not when my energy is this fried.
If I should stride
in life, she makes me pay.
I struggle to finish the simplest of tasks.
In very little, I can take pride.
The world passes me little-by-little each day.
And, there’s no help coming.
There’s no way of staying.
There’s no way of running.
All that’s left is praying
or just hoping…hoping for something.
My only request for anyone
is to not act as if her presence isn’t there.
I desire no pity; I want support to come.
Come lift me up when you see my restless & blank stares.
And, don’t tell me to be thankful.  I already am.
Even as her toxic carcass courses through me, I’m still eager to give.
And, just because she can’t kill me, her onslaught is no sham.
Take heed of how she tarnishes all the reasons to live.
With Warm Regards,
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