Sometimes
I feel like people are trying to pull the rug from under me. I sway, but I
don't fall. However, if one day I do fall, I will rise taller than now.
***
Writing gives me a sense of purpose. Scratching
on a piece of paper, materializing feelings and sensations, yanking out
emotions from the depths of my soul trying to survive in these difficult times,
but are times more difficult nowadays than compared to the 40s. At that time,
there was the Second World War, so many deaths. Sometimes I wonder…
For
senseless reasons these days seem to be a repeat. Who pressed that button and rewound
that tape?
***
It
has been a while since I've sat down to write. Surely, I have written a poem here and there,
but I mean, writing in the act of pouring my heart out on a sheet of paper.
Am
I afraid that the emotions will flow through the tear ducks in my eyes?
Am
I frightened of opening up the box that has been kept up locked and chained?
Am
I afraid that I will re-read what I've written and judge it to be ridiculous or
even worse, feel sorry for myself or much worse, have pity?
Writing
down the thoughts that run around in my brain scares me, at times.
What
if in writing them down makes them come to life?
Perhaps
that's why I won't. At least not today!
***
When
I stopped walking to an only -God- knows -and- he's- too- busy- to- tell
disease, hit me. The pain I felt was horrific! Questioning my doctor what
pain from 1 to 10 means; what pain 10 feels like is in fact. He simply answered
that it was when you felt like hitting your head against the wall because that
pain would make you feel better. Although it doesn't make too much sense, I
understood it quite clearly, however, the most painful feeling was when someone
looked at me with eyes of pity.
Feeling
sorry for my condition was not helping me at all. It just made things worse. So
next time you look at someone filled with pity, think again.
Written:
June 26 and 27, 2026
 |
| Google Images |
