It's Not a Fair Request Ann WJ White The song reverberates around the soothing sound of music. People nod and hum along, A song of loss, but acceptance. I will not accept. My heart beats with a slide, a murmur, the wall thickens, the prison fights back. The stenosis of my heart bleeds, can't hold the blood, Must be caught out and removed. The only way to survey is not to give into the pain, but to fight it. To growl and mask a face like a wild animal. I can't let niceness win. This is my life. A open heart surgery. A chest opened, without the ability of medication instead. At the moment that the calcium in my valve fixes itself shut like glue, I am dead. I won't celebrate that. My brain fuddles around, killing itself. It takes aim at the immune cells the T and B cells. There is a riot in my brain. If a virus or bacteria scoots in along the white matter, if it remembers the formulation in the DNA. The white blood cells will leapt forming a battle against anything that doesn't belong, even stress. Stranger danger! The brain will attack medications that have similar DNA. I can't sit and listen to a healthy punk tell me how grateful I must be. I fight for every day of my life. I can't be healed with medicines, they can only try to shut it down until the next circus that my body brings forward. It's called Multiple Sclerosis, with a pandemic, virus, stress or germ my brain can be shredded. A puzzle torn, ripped, unfixable. No soft delicate feelings making me nice. I won't die, not by ignorance or foolishness. I'll fight for my life. Then I'll write a song.