So as many of you who follow my blog here may know, I am a journeyer within the dark unknown wilds of several lifelong, chronic, and debilitating illnesses. I take more medication than I can even stomach on some days. Most of the time, I’m able to accept it and keep going, just keep on keeping on. Admittedly, I’m a bit too much to handle sometimes with how cheery and active I can be! But I like it that way. It makes up for the days when I’m very much…not.
The last two weeks (as of writing this at least), have been rough for me.
There has been sickness. There have been tears. There has been despair and heartache. This poem started to come to me as a form of self-expressive free writing during this period. Just like that famous quote says, I sat down at my keyboard and opened a vein. Figuratively.
What came forth bled out here on the screen in words and fragments, life and breath, thoughts and prayers. It was originally to be called Digging Your Heels In Deep at its start, but by the beginning, it just didn’t seem to fit right anymore.
I know why you’re here.
In this somber silence.
I can see you. Here.
Here in this quiet place.
You don’t belong here though.
You think you do
But you’re wrong.
You feel empty.
But I can see you
Here.
Your nails bite into palms
As you claw for breath.
You pull your pieces up around you like a cloak
Against the world.
An armor against it all.
Barbs.
They are simple to swat away.
Worse than those all,
Cutting deeper than despair,
Is the lack.
The silence.
They…ignore you.
You feel like nothing.
Just a breath in the maelstrom.
A wisp of extinguished self.
The ghost seen through the smoke
Of a snuffed out candle flame.
You are wrong, you know.
These dark days will soon pass into the West.
They wash away.
Like you wish you could.
Wash it all down the drain
Until there’s nothing left but gleaming bone.
Nothing left to care.
To care so, so fucking much.
This shadow too will light,
Even though this gloom obscures
Oppresses from every side
And every angle.
You can make it through.
You are stronger than you know,
Than anyone can realize.
The secret power you hold inside
Of your tiny, helplessly beating heart,
Will outstrip all of the night that
Smothers in from all around.
You are the light that carries through the pitch.
Tenebrae crushes in on you
But it will not overcome.
Your hands may be shaking but
Your foundation is strong.
Neither will you crumble
Beneath all of the worlds
Cold
Crumbling
Decaying
Wrongs.
I hope all of you were able to take something from this though I don’t pretend to know what it is or should be. I think that’s how art is suppose to be though. It’s a lot like watching your baby grow into a child. One day they are being nestled snuggly into your arms and you’re silently promising them you’ll never let them go. Then the next, you’re watching them climb a tree, jump from the third porch step so proudly, or take off on their bike all alone. You watch them dare to dream and become day by day someone so wonderful, so utterly and completely more than you could ever imagine.
I guess, in that line, if they say that children are an imitation of their parents and that art is the imitation of life, being a mother is the best way that art has imitated in my life. After all, my daughter, my treasure, my gift, is my greatest masterpiece of all.
With Peace and Passion.
Ta!
Little Journeys Everywhere 