Each day I rise on fractured sleep,
From shallow dreams and aches too deep.
The sun may shine, the sky is blue—
But pain wakes first, and walks me through.
It doesn’t scream—it doesn’t need.
It hums beneath each thought and deed.
A weight, a whisper, sharp then dull,
A quiet thief that takes its toll.
I dress it up in normal skin,
And smile so no one looks within.
I laugh, I nod, I do my part—
While it keeps clawing at my heart.
Pills can mute, but never end
The constant pull, the unseen bend.
And yet I move, I work, I try—
With grit between each breath and sigh.
I’ve learned to pace, to rest, to bend,
To treat my body as a friend.
To let go of the guilt and pride
And speak aloud the hurt I hide.
Some days are fire, some are fog—
Each footstep heavy in the slog.
But still I walk, through storm and strain—
A quiet warrior shaped by pain.
And though the world may not quite see
This battle fought inside of me,
I carry on—still here, still true—
And that, I’ve learned, is victory too.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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