I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s body
And I don’t know what to do;
Where’s the perfect hour glass figure
Of the body that I knew?
Did I make some bad decisions
As I stepped down the path of life,
Was I always meant to carry
This weight as a disguise?
When did legs that once walked
The town’s boundary,
My teenage stomping ground,
Increase in girth, and what is worse,
Refuse to move around ;
And here’s a thing –
My arms don’t swing
Could it really be getting worse?
There’s a name for this condition
Though it doesn’t help a lot;
Because Parkinson has woven
His destructive little plot.
There’s a chance I could be dreaming,
And the years not turned to dust
But I don’t have the wherewithal
To reverse Parky’s unwelcome thrust.
Used by permission of the author.