top of page
PIECES OF ME
Fuck me, I think to myself as I break. I come apart in spirals, segments of an orange, neatly dissected pieces. Honestly, it wasn’t that sudden. It feels that way but it never was.
One minute, I’m devouring the hills, eating sunbeams whole as I conquer continents. The next, tips of my body are pins, sharp lances that herald the arrival of my new roommate.
Fibromyalgia.. That sounds like nothing and fucking everything. I laughed, as the doctor told me I’d never be whole again. Laughed, as my insides exploded. Laughed, knowing that from now on, a new day wouldn’t be an entirely new beginning.
I tried to move on, losing myself in movements as I danced, a subtle tango with a partner that withheld my movements. The totality I once felt like, replaced by a jumble of pieces held together by anger and skin.
-Divij Kulkarni ( My incredibly talented friend mentioned above took my rants about Fibromyalgia and turned them into prose and poetry, I haven't found a way to thank him yet and I am taking suggestions)
bottom of page