It is the shirt time of year, the season between the summer dress and the polo neck, the autumn of the fashion world. I am an accomplished recover-er, but I can't lie...
It's there in the mirror,
Quite plain to see,
A patchwork frontage,
That ravages me.
The flesh that the leeches.
Sucked back to life,
Piqued from the preaches.
Of keen midwife.
Accessorize, dress it up,
Starts the day,
But though out of sight,
It just won't go away.
Innately repulsing,
The cancer we fear,
Yet the tumour removal,
Is why I am here?
From breast feeding to a thrombosis (the former acute pain and the latter had a better chance of killing me than the cancer) sometimes I need to get it off my chest? LOL, I remember those leeches so well and they saved my front -when will we celebrate?
