My Spoons

It's Fibromyalgia Awareness Friday!

My Poem for us Spoonies, and those who understand..

My Spoons.

I started with twelve spoons today,

A fairly decent stash.

I thought, “Look at me thriving now,”

Then took a shower… crash.

Three spoons gone for washing hair,

Two more for getting dressed,

One vanished making breakfast,

Because apparently that is stress.

I answered just one phone call,

And lost another four.

Who knew polite conversation,

Was an extreme endurance sport?

Meanwhile, healthy people wander,

With cutlery drawers galore.

Carelessly wasting teaspoons,

While I’m rationing mine like war.

“Oh come out tonight!” they say.

“It’ll be fun, don’t be so boring.”

Darling, I used my final spoon,

Trying to mop the flooring.

Some days I borrow future spoons,

Like a reckless little fool.

Then spend the next three days,

Horizontal as a rule.

And yes, it’s slightly tragic,

But, quite funny too.

How to load the washing machine,

Can entirely undo you.

So if I cancel plans again,

Or leave texts unreplied.

Please know I’m not avoiding you,

My spoons have simply died.

They served with great distinction once,

brave soldiers to the end…

fallen heroically somewhere,

Between laundry and pretend.

Still, spoonies are resourceful.

We adapt, survive, endure.

We rest without apology,

Well, slightly less than before.

Sometimes the greatest victory,

In this strange and tiring life.

Is making tea, finding snacks,

and avoiding any strife.

Which, frankly, deserves a medal.

Sally x

Sally Somerton - Island Writer

www.sallysomerton.com

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