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To be still is too heavy - poem

Jenny is a slim white woman with short dark hair sitting on a sofa at home. She is wearing a black t-shirt with white text on the chest that reads: "feelin' rough".

I used to be so active,

Now just in my head.

It feels as though I'm dying,

Each time I strip the bed.

I used to go lift weights,

Swimming felt so free.

I'd run for pure enjoyment,

But that's no longer me.

Still when I'm frustrated,

It's what my mind wants first.

To move with quick momentum,

I feel like I might burst.

I sit and fizz with feelings,

Unsure of where they go.

What I'd do for energy,

Everything is slow.

Can't just replace my hobbies,

You think I haven't tried?

Everything is just too much,

My brain and body fried.

Being this still takes effort,

It's harder than it seems.

Been more than a decade,

I still run in my dreams.

It's like being claustrophobic,

Cabin fever from within.

A weight I can't shake off,

It's underneath my skin.

The air it feels too stagnant,

Each day it is the same.

And people think we're lazy,

As if it's all a game.

They simply do not understand,

What it's like to miss.

All these parts of who you are,

And long for them like this.


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