No More Spoons

No More Spoons

You talk of spoons, as though my pain

Has measured doses, all the same –

Take two with breakfast, three at noon,

By bedtime, I’m all out of spoons.

You sometimes find it hard to see

How simple tasks are hurting me,

Like washing up or making beds,

Or is the pain just in my head?

You tell me “nonsense, you look great!”

And think that I exaggerate.

“Don’t be so lazy, you’re just depressed,

You’d feel much better if you dressed!”

When magma courses through my veins

And every joint is carved in flames.

So can you blame me if I say

“I guess I feel okay today,”

Because your sympathy wears thin

And sometimes truths should stay within.

What good does moaning do again?

It’s not like I can share this pain,

So when you mention spoons to me,

I know that it is meant kindly,

And that you’re trying to understand

Or offer me a helping hand,

But what would comfort me much more –

Just leave the small talk at the door,

Don’t say you hope I’m better soon…

And please, dear God, don’t talk of spoons.