Afraid to Exist

I saw myself and shook from head to toe
I heard my voice cry out from deep within
I ran away, I couldn’t bear to know
I chose to think existence was a sin
I wanted to join in with all the world
The smells, the tastes, the textures called to me
Around my hand, another’s hand was curled
She told me I would drown if I was free
So interest was forbidden from my face
Lest someone notice I was still alive
I stayed afraid to join the human race
Lest I be carried off by ocean tides
     One day the tide did sweep me out to sea
     Instead of being drowned, it set me free

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My, sie’s really let hirself go…

My foot is cracked and bleeding from the cold
Yet there is beauty in the lines and cracks
My hands are gnarly, wrinkled, leathered, old
Yet every wrinkle hails unnumbered acts
They tell me to be pretty, to want more
“And more of what?” is always my reply
I’ve had a good long life, though I am poor
And poverty has been my shield and sky
I look into the mirror and I see
The greying hair, the laugh and worry lines
That come with living long and living free
For I have no consent to be confined
     They look at me and feel I’ve disengaged
     I celebrate surviving to old age


 

 

 

 

 

[By way of explanation:  I find myself fiercely, desperately, wanting wrinkles and grey hair and all the other signs that I have outlived every prognosis I’ve been given.  Other people fear those things, wanting to look young.  When I am old, every wrinkle and grey hair will be a badge of pride saying “I made it.” I have only recently, since diagnosis and treatment for adrenal insufficiency, begun to allow myself to dream of old age again, and what a beautiful dream it is.]

The Hardest Question

I struggled hard for air with every breath
She looked just like a grandma, or a queen
When I had ventured close enough to Death
To glimpse enough to know what I had seen
So regal, yet so humble, she became
Yet radiant as lit from the inside
So loving, yet such sternness, all the same
The things that left impressions on my mind
She did not weigh a feather by my heart
She did not feed my soul to any beast
She merely asked a question, one which starts
To show what matters most, what matters least:
     “And did you act from love and only love?”
     And after that, no question is as tough.

That Dream Where I Stopped Fearing My Feelings

A river flows away from all the stones
That hold me on the ground beneath my feet
It carries in its current more unknowns
It holds me in its arms, and moves so fleet
So fleet that I can scarce come up for air
No chance to grab onto the wall of rock
I must allow the river now to bear
My flailing body far too weak to walk
I float away until I reach the sea
I have no means to keep my head afloat
The waves of feeling lash and flail at me
And I will drown, the water fills my throat
     But all at once, I let the waves crash through
     And gills appear where only lungs once grew

Sometimes, Restrictions Only Increase Life’s Richness

I spent six years in bed, six years I found
The richness of the love surrounding me
A tree outside my window so profound
From detail comes familiarity
They say that all restriction is a curse
A nightmare from which folks can never wake
But we exalt our highest forms of verse
Like sonnets, which restrict which form to take
And always those who could, would hurry past
Without a glance at me, or at the tree
The richness that they missed, they moved too fast
To see what I and other slow folks see
For life is rich to infinite degree
It’s found in sonnets, and in folks like me