Pain.
I push against it
challenge it
A warrior intent
on proving
I am…
indestructible
unwilling
to flinch
Convinced
that denial
equals power
Except, it gnaws
at my edges
tears me down
bit by bit
Just as I prepare
to succumb…
clarity
…this is invitation
…surrender is a gift
…pain is passage
I let go
absolve myself
of the need….
(Pain first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II in June of 2016.
It has been edited here. Art my own.)
Movement abandons
I grasp for something…
concrete…
…air to breathe
… am fast becoming
…sedimentary
…an object
Need a verb –
transitive –
to drive me –
The wind lifted her
The sun inspired her
The day healed her…
(Image my own)
If I measure progress
by “used-to’s”
illness and age win
I used to play tennis
speed and muscle
ease of ambition
This place, the nexus
of how life has changed,
teaches me appreciation
Frost in my veins
permanent, warmth
of memories aglow.
(Image my own.
Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson)
Chronic this pain
finite the energy
fuels each day
Ability to wonder,
marvel at nature –
without limits
Thoughts, like leaves
break away, swirl
float on the wind –
I am at one
with possibility
free to create
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Today is Thursday
I’m certain of it
Thursdays Mom calls
after her hair appointment
But she hasn’t called
and I can’t find that show
I watch on Thursday nights
Did they change the programming?
And then I remember
that garbage goes out
Thursday night
and so I scramble, but
everyone else has forgotten
how can this be?
Today is Thursday
and nothing is going right.
(For Reena’s Xploration Challenge: featured image is prompt. I suffer from inflammation on the brain, which at times affects my understanding of reality – especially when I’m overtired. During these times, my mind will lock on to what it believes to be true, even if I’m totally off base. Reena’s image reminded me of those days.)
Rain has returned
Winter’s fickle nature
overturning hope
I cower beneath
bedsheets, body
on fire – await
an impulse greater
than this pain –
creativity the antidote.
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.
Tether me
to the riverbank
I will resist
There are currents
to follow, contours
to memorize
Let me soar
these wings capable
imagination intact.
(Image mine)
Your voice, he said, it sounds…different…
Project your voice
I learned in theatre,
speak to the back
keep it strong
don’t falter
I had to replay your message several times….
Hold that note
dig deep –
from the diaphragm
sing from your belly
Must be something wrong with the machine…
Demonstrate conviction
let your tone convey passion
stand tall, be confident
motivate your audience
Dad, the orator, told me
I couldn’t make out your words….
Performance demands voice
activism relies on voice
change requires voice
You sound so…weak…
not yourself at all
I am losing my voice
but not my words;
I have much to say
who will say it for me?
(Who Will Speak for the Silent first appeared here in October, 2015. My voice was the first thing to go at the onset of ME. It would be years before I could speak and sustain a conversation again. In revisiting this poem, it occurs that it is still relevant for all those who do not have a voice, who cannot speak for themselves, so I resubmit here on behalf of Woman’s History Month and am linking up with my weekly challenge, dig. Image my own)
I’m gnawing on possibility
the suggestion that my dabbling
could amount to something
What? my gut protests
reminds me of limitations
physical constraints
But I’ve had room to breathe
and resources at hand
and creativity, expansive
dwells in possibility
nibbles at suggestions
mind scrabbles to find
excuses – laundry,
a drawer that needs sorting
but the door has opened
and I’m seeing a path
a way through the noise
a sliver of light beckoning.
(For Ragtag’s daily prompt: gnaw. Image my own.)
Is there an itinerary for this lockdown?
I watch as engagements line up
Adventure-seekers, eager to connect
willingly engage, purchase a ticket
How I would give my life to be a part
hop aboard a sailing ship, escape
Except disability has recalled my passport;
I am a vehicle without fuel, grounded
Disappointment and I watch as
familiar faces venture out –
a friend’s brother
an old crush
a high school acquaintance
While envy reminds me
I’m always an outsider
Sensibility wakes me up
This boat I’m missing out on
is no luxury cruise ship, but
a dalliance with death –
I surrender to isolation
count the casualties.
( Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 