Writing poetry is one of my distractions

Here is a poem I recently wrote comparing my life with my husband's right now.

The Tiny Pills

We passed each other briefly in the still-dark early morning hallway.

You, with your swift working clothes heading downstairs

to begin another day in your clamoring career.

Me, finally heading to my sleeping bed to begin another day in

my clamoring need to survive my broken, suffering life.

I hope to finally sleep a little and wake up perhaps to an easier day

than the so-many days I cannot truly imagine I have already survived.

I remain engulfed in such fear of this monumental task each day in front of me.

And I marvel at each step you have come to grow with -

simply living a life prescribed to suit you perfectly it seems.

But what of me?

Was it really prescribed that my life would be suddenly stolen from me,

and even secretly preventing a certain peace long before this current dire mishap?

All from the cruel action of a stark pen

writing a prescription for the long-suffering days

hidden sweetly in the tiny pills.

Here I sit with these words day after day;

my only steadfast connection to a certain perceived reality.

.

And I continue to fear for my own survival;

for my own small self left abandoned and broken by the tiny pills;

by the cold hard hand that handed them to me,

his dire smile of feigned compassion.

I am grateful I have a place to share these words to people who can probably identify. Thanks.