I am P.O.T.S.
When I raise to my feet
my body wraps,
clenches
to me.
Drags me
straight to my grave.
And with all my strength,
I dig my rounded chipped nails
into the shifting sands.
The sands of time
just floating away.
Preventing me
with every tug,
reconstructing me
with every shake
and every blackout.
I fight, I pull, I reach,
for the hope God gives me.
So that one day
my heart will stop racing
because there is no finish line,
and the hammer in my head
would stop pounding.
To be as strong as the
others who grew up with me.
To keep my eyes open
When my hands are steading
the steering wheel.
To be as sharp as my pencil,
the one I write my passions
onto college lined paper.
One day I will find myself
in the midst of my crippling pain
and my brains confusion.
But for now I am defined
not by my heart
but the disease that surrounds it.
To all but me,
I am P.O.T.S.