Posted in life and reflection, Perhaps...I'll Let You In, random, Writing and all its cousins

I Can Only Speak for Myself

Initially, there’s this raw space. We may wonder how it got there, or more importantly, why it’s there.  Perhaps we conditioned ourselves early in life to bandage wounds and carry on, so we slap a Band-Aid on it until it festers, not realizing that giving it time to breathe is better than covering it over.

Then, somewhere during the process, a scab forms. There’s this protective layer now, and we go about our daily routines as we did before. That is until we accidentally bump that spot, exposing it again.  Maybe we overestimated ourselves, or maybe we were just trying to…forget. In any event, there it is. And yes, it still hurts.

An undetermined amount of time passes, and we notice the scab is now a smooth scar. We run our fingers over it, remembering that unsightly place.  But we can do it now, we can run our hand across that area. It reminds us that grief cut us open.  Yet, we survived.

SSM-S

aka Whatevertheyaint

Oct 2017

 

 

 

  • I can only speak for my own experiences. Like most people, there have been more than a few negative events in my life, but I learned to just acknowledge them and allow myself to go through the process. This poem came from waiting on a sore to heal on my leg and then, at random (which tends to happen when I’m ready for my brain to SHUT DOWN), thinking how wounds are a lot like the process of grieving, or dealing with any life-changing event. 

 

 

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Posted in Writerly Advice, Writing

What Do You Love More?

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

Not even her best backbend

Before I was a writer, I was an acrobat. Not the kind that flips through the air–the kind who holds up other smaller, younger acrobats who look better in the same spandex costume. A “base.”

I loved it. I loved being the one who makes sure everyone is ready, calls the move, Hup!, then adjusts while the flyer holds still. Stay straight, tight and trusting. Don’t balance yourself, let me balance you.

I loved that I could lift men bigger than me and women in acrobat class who were also bigger than me and had spent years not letting anyone lift them because they felt “too heavy.” That I could grab someone the right size and move them through a basic routine right away, as long as they did exactly what I said. I got really good at giving directions, verbal cues, nudging with…

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Posted in life and reflection, poetry, Writing

“Trust the Hours” (Wait)

Love this poem

Galway Kinnell

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the…

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Posted in Writing

6 Reasons Why Writing is the Best Therapy (2 min read) — Millionaire’s Digest

Written By Millionaire’s Digest Team Member: Annmarie McQueen Founder & Owner of: Annmarie McQueen Millionaire’s Digest Team, Contributor, Travel & Writing Writer 1. It lets you get the feelings out without having to get anyone else involved. Let’s face it; getting emotional in front of people is always an embarrassing process, no matter how close you are […]

via 6 Reasons Why Writing is the Best Therapy (2 min read) — Millionaire’s Digest