06/03/2026
The Scale of Ten
The charts are neatly filed in clinical rows,
A language of acronyms only the broken know.
They measure the pain on a one-to-ten scale,
But numbers are hollow, and data will fail
To capture the fire that lives in the bone,
The weight of a mountain you carry alone.
The waiting rooms swallow the hours of the day,
For experts to guess at what text books can’t say.
A cycle of visits, of trials, of tests,
Searching for calm while the nervous system protests.
”It’s rare,” they remind you, “a complex design,”
As lightning rewires the pathways of spine.
You advocate fiercely, explaining the heat,
The touch of a blanket, the sting of defeat.
A pharmacy ledger of hope and of doubt,
Trying to put the internal flame out.
Yet past the sterile walls and the clinical gaze,
Lies a warrior just trying to navigate the blaze.