A cop-out cloaked in philosophy.
Her body’s truth they call pretend,
a faulty brain network to defend.
Too many signs for their eyes to mend.

I’m furious they claim her frame can lie,
That spasms mimic, that nerves comply.
Her neck’s sharp jolt—Lhermitte’s sign—
Skewed face, arms stiff, yet they decline.
They shun biokinetic proof, instead
Cling to Hoover’s sign, their shallow thread.

I’m furious they scorned her family’s kin,
Their history branded as fleeting sin.
I’m furious they erased disease’s name,
With theories spun to dodge the blame.

I’m furious when weight became their jest,
“Eat less cake,” they sneered, unpressed.
Her words dismissed, her pain unheard,
They fed her pills to curb her verve
Drugs no soul should ever endure.

I’m furious for hours she poured in vain,
Seeking truth through relentless pain.
Her knowledge mocked, her efforts scorned,
As if her quest for answers was malformed.

I’m furious she lingers in agony’s grip,
While they walk free, no shame, no slip.
She followed their rules, did all they said,
Yet pain grew worse—her life’s misled.

No tears remain, her eyes are dry,
Yet they abandon her, forced to survive.

I’m furious fatigue has won the fight,
FND slammed shut each door of light.

I’m furious they feigned to understand,
Their ignorance crushed her trembling hand.
I’m furious their scorn redefined her truth,

Misnamed her pain, dismissed her youth.
I’m furious their gatekeepers’ chant
Hailed FND while her hope they scant.
I’m furious their silence binds her voice,
Truth suppressed, no room for choice.
I’m furious they warped her very name,
Turned patient to villain, fueling shame.

I’m furious they still refuse to see,
They cloaked her pain in uncertainty.
I burn, I rage, my heart’s alive—
They gave up. Yet she survives.

If truth emerges and her fate’s sealed,
Their hands are stained with her blood.