Awkward

I haven’t been in public much the last decade or so,

my social interaction freezing in a lost tableau.

When I did get back out there, I was thinking of it wrong.

But I should know that nothing stays the same for quite that long.

Since I have lived with chronic illness, nothing is the same.

At times, I do not recognize this person I became.

The changes were involuntary, yet I can’t go back.

So, helplessly, I’ve seen my life careening off its track.

The Sick Me is so different than the Healthy Me had been,

which means I oft feel awkward, even here, in my own skin.

But being out in public is far worse than when alone.

When out there, I must live as though my woes are unbeknown.

Here, in my home, I don’t pretend that I am not in pain.

I don’t pretend my illnesses aren’t clouding up my brain.

In fact, I don’t pretend at all. That’s why I’m staying home,

and working out my feelings in another silly poem.

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