To Tell the Truth
It gets weary explaining the differences between
Vestibular and cervical, and google searches
Lead to U2 mp3s and graphic novels but
Never to anything close to an answer or cure.
Maybe someday I will come to forgive
Bono and Gaiman for confusing the issue
But that will only be sometime before
I forgive the doctors for not knowing
How to make it all go away forever.
Miss Jackson and Meatloaf may not need me
To come to their defense but I’m the one who hides
Afraid that people will think it’s all in my head
Just some psychosomatic psychosis unable to cope
With the reality of getting old or being sober.
The audacity of invisible illnesses,
Misdiagnoses, and inconclusive tests.
Point a finger of blame where nothing stands,
Where beliefs sway in the wind of judgment,
Where Gaiman humanizes Death to feel grounded.
~*~I am never sure of this piece. It's so full of pop references and I doubt most people get them all because my eclectic taste in things tends to keep me all over the map. In light of earlier comments, I figured I'd toss this out. Two weeks in a row with some old poem pulled from an even older file? Wow.