I have had this book idea for about 3 months or more and I struggle every day trying to expand on it. (One of the reasons I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been writing elsewhere.). Tonight, I was able to break through the stone walls of writers block and surf the rainbow of imagination. I am only in pre-writing stages, but I plan to make it a short story. So, with that in mind, you can help. I am looking for first and last names that are french in origin. Comment your suggestions if you wish to help a fellow writer! Au revoir!
Do you…see me? After all, I am your own flesh, blood and first born.
Things used to be different. I used to feel appreciated and loved by you. Now I feel like nothing, but an afterthought.
You come through those doors and I look up to greet you, but you never look happy to see me. So what do I do?
I chase after you into the kitchen and sit at the table as I watch you unpack your belongings and try to make conversation..even small talk.
Our words die and we part ways until a common entity calls us together once again.
I often spend time in solidarity. I am sure you contemplate as to why.
Every time they awaken you from your daze, you answer. You are alert and interested to them when they request your attention even if they just wish to tell you about their day, upcoming events, or accomplishments or to complain about a rough situation.
Why am I different? Is it because I am disabled? Am I such a strain that even the mere thought of my voice produces a cringe upon your face?
Maybe it is because I am the academic failure. Surely you would rather hear about the success of an engineer rather than a failed musician.
I know. It wasn’t my fault and that’s what you’ll say.
I know I have limitations……
but that is all you see. You are incapable of noticing the dreams, talents and passion I am capable of.
Listen to my words and my feelings. You once requested I speak to you, truth. Now I am invisible. nothing…but a being who takes up space in your home.
See me. See me. SEE ME.
Be immersed in a colorful, contrasting part of your own life. Me.
I am different, yes. Though I am capable of great things.
See me. See me. SEE ME.
“I think about my mom’s note all the time – “Tell Meredith not to…” Not to cave? Not to care? Not to give up so easily? Not to fall in love? Not to have children? Not to tell a lie? She left me wondering what to do, what not to do. She left me knowing everything was up to me, and me alone. And, she left me with no one to ask so I would decide what she meant to write. Tell Meredith not to be afraid. Goodbye mom.”
-Meredith Grey/Grey’s Anatomy
I think about you daily
the things you’d do and say
I think about you until the night
And all along the day
And when it seems like all is lost
I gaze up at the stars
searching for honest answers
heeding words from …afar
This poem is dedicated to my Aunt Marie who passed away from Cancer at the beginning of March. I miss her and think about her often.
nature’s broken power
winter’s treasured abyss above
Where am I? This obscure darkness is clouding any glimmer of light.
Have I perished? Is this my eternal damnation?
My mortal frame will not shift. My limbs are frozen as if I were a cement statue on display for anyone to glare and snicker.
I no longer feel agony, merriment, or even irritation. My physical form has become a ghost, a hallow shell that harbors my beating heart.
Wait. Is my heart beating? I no longer can comprehend.
What if the end isn’t near? How will I be freed from these shadows?
Is solidarity eminent? I can’t end like…
The excerpt above is written from a thought perspective.
Like many people in the world, I am a person who has a seizure disorder. I was diagnosed with Epilepsy when I was a little girl, and have lived with it for over twenty years. In most recent years, it has actually become more difficult.
Written above is what comes to mind when I think about what happens. Even though I am unconscious when I have a seizure, I wake up feeling disoriented. Usually, I have the feeling of “If I did not come out of that, I could have died”. Not being able to utilize my motor skills is terrifying, discouraging, distressing, and tiresome. Above are my thoughts on what I believe I would contemplate in my own consciousness during a seizure.
Hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much to all those who read my blog posts!!
Waste the innocent
Feasting on their scarlet blood
Can I tell you
a story of that night?
You stood before
as I laid there with a knife
straight from behind
my trust in you