is my dead side,
where the nerves fried,
but I tried
to piece it back together.
My left side
was my bad side,
would just abide,
but my pride
forced me to be its master.
My inside
is where I hide
and confide
that i lied,
it long stopped getting better.
Posted on the occasion of a friend having also become a young stroke survivor.
Learn more about the signs of stroke.
Learn more about the signs of stroke.
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"We are what we think. All that we are arises with our thoughts. With our thoughts, we make the world." — Buddha