Evocatively: Putting Aside

As for my Fibromyalgia
It’s alive and kicking
Just like a
Spirited child,

If only it would similarly
Grow up
And leave home
For good,

Which,
Stretching the analogy,
Makes me wonder,
Who gives birth to whom,

Do I give rise to it?
Or does it give rise to me?
Or do we both
Arise spontaneously?

And some might say,
That both are so
Or neither,
But

All this
Incessant speculation
Grows tiresome
And so,

I sip
My coffee
Quietly
And forget all about it,

Enjoying the view
Of the crystal clear
Blue sky
Outside my window.