in the days we sweat it out on the streets

my body is a temple.
my body is a cage.

hope is the thing with feathers.

I can feel them inside my lungs when I'm running along the lake path. I can't take a deep breath.

I can run twice as far as I could ten years ago. I guess I got more chasing me.

I count to five. over and over. there's little room for thinking when you're choking on a broken heart and metaphysical wings.

I will be the fittest person with fibromyalgia on the planet. you will never, ever think to look at me that I have an untreatable nervous system disorder that makes me feel like someone's been borrowing my body at night to play rugby in.

at least this way I own the pain.

for the fucking win.