How I Choose To Soldier On

A poem about losing your ability to move forward

My Photo

This is a body failure
I am twisted, contorted
like the elephant man
for the modern times.
My compromised present,
with the inability to move
forward and backwards
I keep falling down,
the ravine of life.

Chunks of skin missing
still healing months
upon months later.
My fingers trace
the scar left behind
when metal staples
bit into my thin skin.

The pace of movements
is that of a snail
slipping on its
own slimy trail.
Soldiering on is all
I can do to keep
my sanity.

Scars spreading
like spiderwebs
deep ravines
for my fingertips
to serenade
I can still feel the knife
surgical staples sliding out
ice cold numbing
sensitive skin.