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“Tears are words that need to be written” -Paulo Coelho

I am not good at crying. I was never comfortable with it. Growing up, when I cried, I was either told to shut up and take it, to be quiet, that I looked funny doing it, or that it made me look ugly. For the last ten years, the ten years since Mom’s passing, I have rarely cried. Now, as I am my dying husband’s care giver, I cry often…not only for what I will lose, but for all that I have lost. My virginity at age five. My son at age fourteen. My hope at age 21. I cry for a father who helped so many and hurt so few. Those few being us, his own family. I cry for my perfectly imperfect mother…a woman who lived in and past fear. I cry for my brother who forced reality down so far that it had no choice but to come bursting up. I cry for my sister. I just cry for all she believes she has lost. I cry for my husband, my one great love, as I watch him try to stay Army strong and dignified. Illness has no dignity. I know as I have been sick most of my life. Death has dignity. Not the moments leading up to it but the passing itself. I held Granny’s hand as she stroked out, then stared into something that I could not see, smiled, and commented that now, after a lifetime of being a stalwart Christian, now she understood. As they say in the South, a Lady always knows when it’s time to leave. I realized while writing this truth that I am no Lady, but I am a woman…a perfectly flawed and naked to my soul, human. You may not like what I have written. You may be uncomfortable with it. But, I have been one acquainted with the world of untruths for far too long. Mulder had it wrong. The truth is not out there, rather it is in us. And, so is God.

Making a Metta Moment

Breathe in peace.

Yesterday was a horrid day.

Breathe out anger.

Breathe in love.

I never do anything right. I am a loser.

Breathe out self-hatred.

Breathe in acceptance

My body is gross. Who could ever love me.

Breathe out dark refusal.

Breathe in stillness.

I’m so anxious my hair is falling out and I’m grinding my teeth.

Breathe out nervous energy.

Breathe in radical love

No one ever invites me to do anything.

Breathe out dark hatred.

Breathe in peace.

What do people expect from me. A robot? A doormat? A yes woman?

Breathe out hostility

Now…

Breathe in love.

Breathe out love.

Breath in love.

Breathe out love.

Breathe.

There’s a Cog in my Throat

My throat feels like someone scratching their nails down a chalkboard.

It has a lump in it that makes me keep wanting to swallow, but I can’t.

I keep trying to talk but I can’t even get out a word.

I feel too awful or I would go on a tirade and rant!

Poet’s Note: I realize that this piece isn’t my best poem, but, in addition to the migraine, I have lost my voice. I promised myself that I would publish a writing on here every day, and this is the best that I could do in the state that I am in. Thank you for reading! I truly appreciate your kindness.

Just a Thought

I often, like now, feel overwhelmed by all of what seems necessary in life. Then, I think love God first and love your neighbor as yourself. Everything else is just busyness which the adversary uses to derail us. Today is The Sabbath for Chistians. I suggest resting as God Himself did on the seventh day. All the nonessential nonsense can wait. Relax. Read. Play uplifting music. Write a confusing text to a friend (see other post), pen pal someone who is lonely (ahem…just clearing my throat, eat cold meals today if cooking is difficult for you, play an instrument (my bil will be playing the tin whistle-guaranteed), get some Vitamin D from the sun), phone a friend, and a gazillion other things, BUT only pick one or maybe two. One of mine will be reading a book. Shew! I got nervous just reading that paragraph. Again, pick one or two. May God grant you a peaceful day and productive week!

The Other Alphabet Song

A you’re so assanine

B you’re a big bovine

C you’re so carefree with your words

D you’re a dodo head

E eeekkkkk you’re so bad in bed.

F you’re a fool who smells like turds

G I hate it when you goose me

H you’re a hellion to the T

I you’re so idiotic to me

J you’re just a Jack wipe, too

K you kiss like poo

J you’re just a trickster full of charms

K you’re a kicker full of harm

M N O P I could go on and on and on all day

Q R S T alphabetically speaking your a Jack off, okay

U are a track stain

V you’re so very vain

W X Y Z it’s fun to put you down

You dirty, measly clown

And my life without you gets an A

J