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Posts Tagged ‘spoonies’

The fights you cannot see

Tuesday, September 19th, 2017

“A cache of courage to brace against the blinding pain
Each one of us fights battles no one else can see
Some days just waking up is an act of bravery”
– Bravery, Assemblage 23

 

They brought her flowers in the hospital. But she couldn’t see. Drenched in shadows and silence and pain. That never-ending pain. Take your pills, young girl, they say. Take your pills and maybe you’ll be alive tomorrow. Don’t give up, they say. But (truth is) they never stay. And the flowers wither; the days pass and those white walls get greyer as does the sky outside.
 
{They bring us flowers, but they never stand with us. They never fight. They never understand.
And it’s killing us to try. But we do it everyday.}

 

The fight that never ends

Thursday, March 23rd, 2017

“Please stand up and fight

against the sickness deep inside

You are much too young to die
”
      – The Sickness, Terminal Choice

{This is for all the people out there, who are fighting (invisible,) chronic illnesses.}

 
 
Years and years lost; a black hole, an abyss, a never-ending eclipse. Dying at the hands of dark ghosts.
And I’m sorry, but I couldn’t be yours. I kept slipping away like sand, like rain, like confusion and sad poetry. I walked on the edge; drowned everything I could have been. I never blamed you though. For not saving me. You see, I couldn’t be yours. Because I was empty and bitter and afraid. I was so young, diagnosed with something so horrible. A life tainted with grief and pain and isolation. I was frightened by my own darkness.
Fire in my head, ocean in my lungs; couldn’t you just let me go? Ashes and silence. Falling tears – numbing snowflakes preserved on my skin. Take the pills, they say. But who’s going to take me home?
 
(How old do you think I am? Will I face the raven soon? Have I offended God? Do you really love me?)
 
• I don’t smoke, but I burn your cigarettes, when I’m alone. It’s comforting and hurtful at the same time.
 
• Winter’s over and visiting hours are over too. The roses in the vase will bloom and then turn to dust while I sleep.
 
• Do you know, that every star that shines out there knows your name? That every star-particle is a prayer for you?
 
• So many years gone. Take your pills, they say. But who’s going to take me home?
 
• Morning comes and we are still fighting the unending fight; because there is hope embedded in the sunrise, in the star-storms, in the soft sea-waves, in the nightingale’s love-song to the rose. There’s something beautiful abandoned and left to disappear in the dark creases of the day. But when I close my eyes sometimes I can see it. And it heals, more than any pill ever can. (Don’t give up. Just don’t give up.)