Mrs. Ram's Jams

Because sometimes you need to vent when you have invisible pain.  Because sometimes haters are going to hate.  And because it remains invisible if you don’t talk about it.

I’m a pain in the ass, full of shit, lend me your ear, and put a sock on it
because of fibromyalgia, IBS, Meniere’s, and Raynaud’s chronic disease fits.

I’m a pain in the ass,
a daily debacle that will never pass.
No matter how much I tweedle and wheedle,
I smell something fishy and am on pins and needles.
I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders
and my body betrays me as it twitches and smolders.
I’m a taste of my own medicine,
but I can’t take any because it glues my innards together and turns my muscles to gelatin.
I’m a pain in the ass
that will never pass.

And full of shit
that’s hard to pass,
leaving me feeling like a twit.
I’ve got a gut feeling that sends me reeling.
I can’t have my cake and eat it too
without a flare up coming out of the blue.
I don’t have a cast iron stomach.
Most culinary delights leave my digestive track flummoxed.
I feel like I’m eighty-six,
and I’ve had to eighty-six Cajun concoctions in cast iron pots because of my tummy.
Gone are all the foods that are satisfying and yummy,

including salt,
but that’s my inner ear’s fault.
Go ahead, lend me your ear.
I’ve got loads to tell you about my diseases that you don’t want to hear.
Don’t get bent out of shape
because I am bent out of shape.
I’ll take your ears and attach them to my own with tape,
so I can hear what you have to say dear.
I’d love you to lend me your ear.  
But I’m just a dizzy dame
who is going slowly lame.

I’d bend over backwards
to be able to bend over forwards.

And I’ll put a sock on it
as well as gloves
to get my hands and feet to stop it,
my loves,
from looking like they’re from a cadaver.

But people still can’t figure out what is the matter.

They say I’m full of shit and a pain in the ass
and to stop being so crass.
They don’t want to lend me their ears 
because of their own piddling fears.
They’d rather I’d put a sock on it.  
It’s been listed first on my “how do I make my diseases easier for you” docket
for years because you’d rather I’d wear your rose colored glasses.
But now I’ll wear my rose colored glasses for fashion and call you a fascist.

Because you think I’m a pain in the ass and full of shit.
Because you won’t lend me your ear.
And because I’m tired
of putting a sock on it.