Ode To Progeria

Ode To Progeria

My bony, old fingers feebly hold my pencil
Unintentional shakes of my hands define my light marks upon this yellow, weathered page
Upon which I scribe
My Ode
My Ode To My Diseased State
My Ode To Progeria
Let me tell you younglings of my condition
I have lived physically for nineteen long years
But…
But my children
If your white eyes with pure irises
Even saw my creaking, pale, gray, bony frame
With skin weakly held by Elmer’s Glue
You would notice
That your eyes deceive you
My five foot long gray, stringy hair
My hunched back slaving over a dimly lit desk
Perpetually writing my will
In a virtually black room,
lit only by the skull-shaped candle
Illuminated by the white light
Is a chestnut wooden table
Navy blue books, black books, oxygenated red books
Brown books, silver books
Piled eight feet high on each side of my sturdy table
Calligraphy pens scattered about the surface
In front of this spectacle
You would envision
A frail, ninety-five pound
old hag
with her oscillating hands
Writing
In a thin, black, high-backed chair with a maroon cushion to support my coccyx
Her nose is a bony feature
Upon her rippled and alabaster face
Her eyes are a solid gray color with a small black pupil
The gray meshes with the white in her eyes
Her lips are light peach
Her eyes are pointed like an elf’s
As they protrude from the stringy mass upon her cone-shaped head
She solely wears a dusk-gray gown
Draped around her fat-free figure
Suffering from muscle atrophy

Feeling afraid, my little ones?
That woman…
Is me, my precious youths.
Yes, I am nineteen,
but I look as though I am ninety-six
This the ode to progeria
My blessings…
and
my curse…

I have learned much more in my nineteen years
Thank you would have at thirty-six
None of you believe me, do you?
There is such a thing…
Even at my old age.
I have what is called
Werner’s Syndrome
I developed it a few months back…
The hagus smell of rotting flesh
No, no, your noses do not deceive you
You really are smelling it
Along with the burning wax of my candle
And you really are
hearing my lungs wheeze
lightly in the candle’s soft flickers of its breeze
And you can taste
The dust that is slipping into your mouths
The particles becoming caught into your healthy, pink diaphragms

Come closer, my children.
You are allowed to touch
The decrepit cadaver that lies in front of your dialated eyes
To feel the scaly, rubbery skin
To feel the yarn mop upon my ever-frailing head
To feel the silk gown
That hides no feature
Of my newborn
rheumatoid arthritis

Please weep not for me
I have lived as happily as any human could ask to
Achieved many great things as a youngling
Committed beautiful sins such as sex and drinking Tanqueray
Triumphing over my adversaries
At getting better grades
Writing better books
Becoming better at making decisions
Outwitting them at all games
And keeping my loved ones dear to me
I have no regrets

You probably feel some remorse at my premature death
Yes… that is my only curse
Other than the joints breaking
And my stomach stapling itself due to starvation
And my cataracts blinding me
And my muscles decaying inside my sagging body cast
I wish that I could teach you all that I have learned during my rapid progeria
My mind progressed at the same pace
As my body has –> because I explored the world, spent sleepless hours researching facts, and bravely facing the outside world, creating true philosophies in my head, speaking to the animals, and learning about the human mind

If I weren’t concerned with your youth,
Then I would suggest that you envy me
But aching bodies are uncomfortable
They make you irritable

Progeria…
my blessing…
and…
my curse…
My ode is to this incurable disease
My driven force to learn all about this world
In which we dwell
To teach my children about this place…

Progeria
My death and driving force
Spare me as long as you need
Before I meet my predestined demise…

You believe I am crazy, don’t you?
Go my dears….
You have plenty of time to learn all that I have
As for me,
My death clock ticks
Signifying that I’ve not much time
This ode shall be the last writing
Ever formed from my weak fingers
That have preserved
In Writing This Work
For the youths’ pleasure
Good bye, Children
You may not see me alive tomorrow
My body shall reside in this chair
Defeated by my love, progeria.

Advertisements

Published by:

xaranahara

I am a graduate of the University of Mount Union. I work for ResCare HomeCare as an attendant. I was a psychology major. I am still interested in English and theatre. Writing has always been one of my passions, and such is why I decided to create this blog. I also love animals. When I am not working hard on whatever project I happen to have my hands on, I am at home playing with my animals. I live with two cats named Garfield and Oreo. I also love to listen to all kinds of music, such as The Birthday Massacre, Emilie Autumn, The Cruxshadows, The Cranberries, Celldweller, Emperor, R.E.M., Future Funk Squad, Symphony X, Einherjer, and Nightwish. Oh, and as of October 15, 2015, I'm engaged. I plan to get married on October 31, 2017.

Categories UncategorizedLeave a comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s