Add Your WLS Poetry Here
Congrats on your upcoming surgery, and kudos for finding a great way to channel your fears and energies. I'm 21 months post-op and, although not much of a poetry writer, crafted a haiku to express how I currently feel about myself. So here you go - Kellie
Free, I’ve been set free
Burdened no more by pounds, fears
Grateful for this gift.
(deactivated member)
on 7/26/07 8:31 am, edited 7/26/07 8:32 am - XX
on 7/26/07 8:31 am, edited 7/26/07 8:32 am - XX
Sorry, I must have deleted that original post when my computer blipped off yesterday! Here it is again, and thanks kmrubesne for the reply anyway! 
COOL HAIKU!
On July 25, 2007 at 5:02 PM Pacific Time, Laur wrote: Hi there. My name is Laur and I have been writing poetry all of my life. These days, I'm waiting on RNY surgery. Since there is time to kill and my brain is on overdrive with emotions, I find myself writing more and more poetry about my WLS anxiety, excitement, etc. I know there are lots of you out there with some good poems to post here. I will start off with two poems I wrote today, and you can add some, too.
Here we go:
Six Small Holes
Chairs with arms & fears of movie seats
& carnival rides & doctor's tables tipping
as I step up on the step set there by doctors
who tell me, urge me, to trust them
who say it's okay then watch as tears roll
from my eyes in sadness & destruction
The table tipped. I told you so.
The chocolate & coffee & pork ribs Texas style
will be gone, the ice cream, the bread, the rice
the noodles goodbye.
Someone is about to stick a camera down
my throat & I'm okay with that.
Weeks progress, more or less then puncture
six small holes in my middle
guts tied up & reconfigured.
And when it's all said & done
There'll be a 4 oz. pouch to greet the incoming nothing
just protein, greens, & hope.
This Is Time I'm Doing Here
Darling you look tired.
I'm in pain greatly
my back twisted bent
sideways sore abused
telling me, begging me
to stop.
My knees almost give out
buckle fast & lose me
run away without me
leave me in a heap
crying to escape.
My skin folds flip flops
down out around me
protection for something
old-timey ancient genetic
built for winter storage
for the indians my ancestors
who got fat or starved.
Modern times called progress
called prison, to me.
This is time I'm doing here.
Looking ou****ching the world
go by my cage I cannot break
the worst place to be
any human might tell you
better dead than 459 lbs.
& I might agree if I wasn't
still alive & fighting.
COOL HAIKU!
On July 25, 2007 at 5:02 PM Pacific Time, Laur wrote: Hi there. My name is Laur and I have been writing poetry all of my life. These days, I'm waiting on RNY surgery. Since there is time to kill and my brain is on overdrive with emotions, I find myself writing more and more poetry about my WLS anxiety, excitement, etc. I know there are lots of you out there with some good poems to post here. I will start off with two poems I wrote today, and you can add some, too.
Here we go:
Six Small Holes
Chairs with arms & fears of movie seats
& carnival rides & doctor's tables tipping
as I step up on the step set there by doctors
who tell me, urge me, to trust them
who say it's okay then watch as tears roll
from my eyes in sadness & destruction
The table tipped. I told you so.
The chocolate & coffee & pork ribs Texas style
will be gone, the ice cream, the bread, the rice
the noodles goodbye.
Someone is about to stick a camera down
my throat & I'm okay with that.
Weeks progress, more or less then puncture
six small holes in my middle
guts tied up & reconfigured.
And when it's all said & done
There'll be a 4 oz. pouch to greet the incoming nothing
just protein, greens, & hope.
This Is Time I'm Doing Here
Darling you look tired.
I'm in pain greatly
my back twisted bent
sideways sore abused
telling me, begging me
to stop.
My knees almost give out
buckle fast & lose me
run away without me
leave me in a heap
crying to escape.
My skin folds flip flops
down out around me
protection for something
old-timey ancient genetic
built for winter storage
for the indians my ancestors
who got fat or starved.
Modern times called progress
called prison, to me.
This is time I'm doing here.
Looking ou****ching the world
go by my cage I cannot break
the worst place to be
any human might tell you
better dead than 459 lbs.
& I might agree if I wasn't
still alive & fighting. 
(deactivated member)
on 7/31/07 2:13 am - XX
on 7/31/07 2:13 am - XX
Lynn,
I think about the surgery and I think about my size and I think, "This is going to be the defining moment of my entire life." I have always been overweight, you know, so the poetry lets me define the moment even further. I'm trying to not be overwhelmed with anticipation. My insurance says they will cover the surgery, but I don't actually have the written go ahead yet. The waiting can really be hard on someone who desperately needs WLS. I hope the poetry will see me through.
Congrats on your weight loss!
Laur
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