my dance is not over just on pause

daily my gravity pulls my world from beneath my feet as my heart races to catch a ghost,a shadow of someone I used to be: POTS my new internal roommate

My bedroom tilts and twists on its axis, furniture shifts, the familiar becomes a mountain much like the scenery where I live ,a simple stand turns into a climb, every single step is a negotiation with the knights of the round table

Coat hanger pain is a test of will, the insomnia is a test of my core, abdominal pain; I’d rather not my heart still performs interpretive dance even though my body says otherwise

However, Therefore, and Where as!

Jesus carries me through and though I’ve identified only a few, POTS, TBI, and all their relatives will never stop my faith nor my witness

I shall not be moved