Big Question

The battle.

The eternal internal never ending quarrel.

Sends unrelenting aches within my dural

Resulting in a nauseating swirl.

Makes its way to my cavity that’s pleural

The simplest of things I still manage to make plural.

I’m so afraid of having a hurl

My stomach contents do not make a good mural

Stand tall hold it back hope for it to curdle

I’m starting to see why my hair has a slight curl

Tiring with each and every metaphysical hurdle

When faced with, I Do my normal

Take a step back and do the turtle

Hide in my shell when I need to toss this girtle

Fuck that hurtle its just a square that wishes to be a circle

Round and round rejuvenation only needs a twirl

Life on earth doesn’t mean we cant be mercurial

No trip or fall is completely irreversible

Because the ground beneath will never not be fertile

The chance to grow is there can’t blame the soil

The fall is important, but no matter how horrible

Stand back up, shake it off. “My name…is Carol” we all have our own Oracle

The opportunity to fly even higher leaves behind a story, your story, it’s historical

You’re sublime, open your mind, keep your spirit rhetorical

Often I think, has the answer this whole time been that simple ?

Live free, glow purple, show off a dimple?

What else can I do? Time flies, I’m not immortal, but I can be a symbol.