Concrete Sheets/Softer Things

Bedclothes hurt my ankles,
hard and unrelenting
like sheets of heavy concrete
I lay trapped and still,
squashed and claustrophobic
and a little broken
like a butterfly in resin,
wishing that the world was made
of softer things...

How I long to sleep in the clouds
under a duvet of gossamer strands,
on a bed so fluffy and light
it floats all through the night,
propelled over secret lands
and dreamy shores
by super incredible farts
and lullaby snores,
to glide on air as soft and calm
as salamander breath,

Wake refreshed
to showers of blossom
and ocean mist
cleansing and gentle,
to wander barefoot
on powdered stars
golden and warm,
to feast on peaches and cream
for breakfast;
to feel only pleasure.


I’ve written this poem about the torture of trying to sleep during a fibro flare-up, not because I want you to feel sorry for me but to try to describe what it feels like. This particular flare-up probably up won’t last long for me but I used to endure them for weeks at a time. Sadly, some people with Fibromyalgia experience this kind of pain, and much worse, every single day.

I added a bit of humour because despite the pain and tiredness I’m still in quite a good mood.

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