Don’t Pity Me

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Don’t Pity Me

Don’t Pity Me 

Don’t pity me 
With my chronic 
disease. 

But pity those 
who only have 
rags for clothes 
and no food to eat.

I’m well-fed
Making me
Difficult for
Parkinson’s
To beat.

So don’t pity me
When I stumble
Through a brain fog
Balance buggered
Shoulders stiff as a rod.

But pity those
Whose future is closed
With no knowledge of greed
Or of growing old.

So don’t pity me
As I go into a slow decline
Pampered with
Pills on demand
And home deliveries online.

But pity those
Shivering in the dark
Their watery eyes
Turned to the stars
And the moon’s reflected light
Shedding silver tears
Onto their outstretched arms.

Don’t pity me
But pity those.

 

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Angie's Diary