ME AND MY OSTOMY.
‘Twas not an answered prayer for me.
To ‘have’ to have an ‘Ostomy’.
It’s no more easy to adjust.
Just because something’s a ‘must’.
I could whine and feel quite sad.
But now it’s done it’s not so bad.
Bright blood - red as it could be.
It’s not unlike a rose to see.
Rose red colour, shape as well.
Shame it hasn’t got same smell.
Bulbous shapes surround a hole.
As if formed by mini-mole.
Shows sensuous femininity.
Plus protruding masculinity
There is base beauty to be found.
In this mucus membrane mound.
I appreciate it’s feel when warm.
And celebrate its rounded form.
When washing with the water cold.
It shrivels like it’s growing old.
Predictably it starts to grow.
Once warm internal fluids flow.
I must surmise how I might be.
Without my mighty ostomy
Pre–ostomy with so much pain.
I would not want that back again.
Pre-ostomy as I recall.
I hardly had a life at all.
From all that painful past I’m free
Now my stoma’s part of me.
. Bill Withers 2011
