My Lasting MemoriesThere are many and I will write them as they come to my mind.
Stepping on British soil next to John, very much in love.
Strolling and discovering his town hand in hand , beautiful Shrewsbury,
birthplace of Charles Darwin.
Walking to corners that he had never stopped to look before
and cycling among the groves of cedars, oaks, limes and weeping willows.
Walking barefooted on the English turf in the Quarry,
those 29 acres of green where originally
the stone was obtained to build houses.
Dazzled by the striking colour of flowers everywhere
the delicately manicured gardens of the Dingle.
And the Severn River ... the longest river in Great Britain,
historic bridges, arches, iron,
buildings and stories of war and depression
and flourish and progress.
The boat ride from Victoria Quay on the ferry Sabrina,
a mermaid who drowned in the river, according to the myth.
And the ducks and swans.
The car rides through the English countryside
towards Newport and Hereford and Worcester
to meet daughters
Look" And you, who is going to look at you! "
And someone looked at me,
someone saw me from afar .
Perhaps in a picture of me,
he contemplated my bare soul ,
and in need of love.
Maybe he peeked through my eyes
and he was caught
Perhaps he let himself be entangled in my hair
and seduced by my words.
" And you, who is going to look at you! "
That phrase I can not forget.
And someone looked at me.
The first time he saw me
it was from a distance.
Then there was a call
and my voice captivated him .
And he came.
He travelled many miles
to take a better look at me ...
And it was then
he could not stop looking at me,
and he came back,
and he always returns.
And he looks at me with eyes of the one that looks beyond ...
and sees perfection in the imperfection,
beauty and sensitivity,
virtues over defects.
At some point I was led to believe
no one could look at me as a woman ...
He who looks at me now,
not only sees me as a woman.
He imagines a princess, a doll,
a being of light,
25th January 2014I have turned 48.
I look back
and I see that I've had a good life
and now I feel
The difficulties were overcome ,
and I moved on .
And here I am now
I always had confidence in myself
I always knew what I wanted to do
I always followed my intuition,
And if ever there were tears
I erased them with new happiness .
At some point I was on the edge of an abyss
and had to decide
And I flew .
And from above I saw how darkness dissipated ,
and I saw that there were still flowers in my green fields .
and that there was a sun and a new moon
and four beautiful stars that guided me ...
and four beautiful clouds which sheltered me ...
and four beautiful melodies that lulled me ...
I found a great heart that opened its doors to me
and two strong arms that wanted to take care of me.
I am 48
but I do not feel old,
I feel reborn.
I'm living life
with a new intensity,
and the smile
does want not to leave my face!
25 de enero 2014.
He cumplido 48 años.
Miro hacia atrás
y veo que he tenido una buena vida
y ahora me siento
Las dificultades fueron superadas,
y seguí adelante.
Y aquí estoy ahora
Siempre tuve confianza en mi misma
siempre supe lo que quería hacer
siempre hice lo que me dictó mi intuición,
Y si hubo lágrimas alguna vez
las borré con felicidades nuevas.
En algún momento estuve al borde de un abismo
y tuve que decidir
Y desde lo alto ví como la oscuridad se disipaba,
y ví que aún había flores en los verdes campos.
y había un sol y una luna nueva
y cuatro hermosas estrellas que me guiaban...
y cuatro hermosas nubes que me cobijaban...
y cuatro hermosas melodías que me arrullaban...
Encontré un gran corazón que me abría sus puertas
y dos fuertes brazos que querían cuidarme.
Cumplo 48 años
CicatrizLa cicatriz en tu frente es
la profunda marca de nuestro amor profundo.
Cuando te miro
recuerdo que vos estás aquí por mí,
que has viajado miles de kilómetros
para estar conmigo.
Veo en tu cara
los muchos momentos de alegría que compartimos,
la manera en que descubrimos el amor de nuevo,
la diversión que hemos tenido,
y las lágrimas que derramamos cada vez que tenemos que separarnos
El corte en tu piel
por momentos corta mi corazón
y sangra mi culpa.
El golpe en tu cabeza
todavía me estremece por dentro.
Cada uno de los muchos puntos que tuviste
también traspasaron mi piel.
y recuerdo aquellas primeras noches a tu lado en el hospital,
cuidandote como una madre cuida a su niño enfermo
y llorando como lo hace una madre
cuando ve a su hijo sufrir.
Esta herida que que lastimó tu cuerpo...
en un momento pensé que podías estar muriendo, ,
siempre va a sangrar dentro mio
ScarredThe scar on your forehead is
the deep mark of our deep love.
I see you
and I am reminded that
you are here because of me,
that you travelled thousands of miles
to be with me.
I see on your face
the many moments of joy we shared,
the way we discovered love again,
the fun we have had all this time
and the tears we shed every time we have to part.
The cut on your skin
at times cuts through my heart
and my guilt bleeds.
Each of the twenty something stitches you had
pierced me sharply.
The blow on your head
still shakes inside me.
I see you
and I remember those nights by your side in hospital
watching over you
as a mother watches over a sick child,
crying as a mother cries
when she sees her child suffer.
And the many nights now when I try to stay awake
to be with you when you wake up out of discomfort and pain.
That wound that hurt your body
will always bleed inside me
will always be a reminder of that test of life.
Now I see you,
and it is all healing,
There is a before and after
and our l
Your FallI saw you fall,
in slow motion.
It was an instant ,
I wanted to help you but I could not ...
And I saw you fall and hit
and hurt yourself.
I still see you when I close my eyes ...
Now I know in an instant
happiness is tinged with red,
with despair .
I still see you in my arms, ,
your head in my hands
and I hear my own screams ...
"This can not be happening, "
but it was happening.
And I had to have the courage to face it
and the strength to help you
I talked to you,
I said your name
and you looked at me ...
I asked you not to leave me,
I asked you to stay with me .
And I shouted so hard,
from my heart, with my soul, no tears,
crying would have torn me apart.
I thought we were alone,
I thought it was the end. .
I was very afraid .
Then help arrived ,
and they rescued you and they supported me .
But then there was a long wait of uncertainty. ,
I needed to know if you were alive ...
I needed to see you, to touch you.
And I cried on shoulders unknown
And I thought what I'd d
For those who are teasedPity those
who throw knives
at your back,
and they're left
with porcelain skin,
and broken knives.
he saved me, but he killed me.
i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest.
it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes
you walked out, your five year old eyes greener than
you reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me.
"what's your name?"
daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.
I looked at the rose in my hand.
you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.
i didn't understand
but I knew.
ii. i forgot about you for
1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,
my name, but i didn't recognize you
until i saw your eyes.
iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.
i screamed, and you carried me home.
iv. i didn't talk for a week.
i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.
you sat next to me in the pouring rain,
Ugly Scars“Why do you cut, dear?”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
Of course it does –
It hurts more than I’m worth
“Why do you cut, dear?”
“Aren’t you ashamed?”
Of course I’m embarrassed,
But I’m used to the blame.
“Why do you cut, dear?”
“Why don’t you stop?”
Can you stop a dead body
From starting to rot?
Because, darling, you see,
I’m not even here.
I’m only a corpse
With no hope, and no fear.
“Why do you cut dear?”
Well, don’t you see?
There’s a pain inside
So deep within me
And it’s coming to the surface
But no one understands
So I put that pain
Inside my hands.
And I lay it out
For all to see
On wrists so red
And forearms that bleed.
“Why do you cut, dear?”
“It’s ugly, you know.”
“ugly” is exactly
What this is meant
Anxiety attackAs the attack begins,
I feel myself slipping away again.
And I question things that are better left unsaid.
And contemplate if I am better off dead.
My anxiety is killing me,
I feel my hands shaking.
And I am sobbing.
And am I dying?
I am just trying,
To get a grip.
But I feel my reality slip through my finger tips.
Nothing is real,
Except every bit of pain my mind forces me to feel.
Every memory that I had shoved away.
Is now racing around my brain.
It's driving me insane.
And my limbs turn to jello.
Every time my head hits the pillow,
Before I go to bed.
I start to panic and I am wide awake instead.
More thoughts are swarming around like a hurricane.
Make it stop!
And just like that,
The attack is gone.
God's PaintbrushI've learned that God's paintbrush is incredibly flawed,
with lashes picked at, and bristles torn nearly off.
I don't think everybody likes what God paints,
because we're always trying to smear it away.
We cut off a few pounds, or cut up some skin,
when we soil the paper, we throw it in the trash bin.
I think His paper has been sauntered with tears,
or blood, and vulgar language from our peers.
Like others have taken His brush and dipped it in oil,
and have painted themselves, in a way that's soiled.
I knew that God's paintbrush was incredibly flawed,
but that doesn't mean that we should change it at all.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” they say,
perhaps it would be better to keep it that way.
I'm incredibly certain that God makes no mistake,
I think that we do, when we try to be fake.
When we take His art into our own hands,
and when we ruin the strokes that He carefully commands.
I don't really think that God wants us to be perfect,
if so, then He wouldn't take th
BipolarThere's that moment when I wake up in the morning,
And without a warning.
I feel myself plunge into the ocean.
As my thoughts drown me,
Like anchors tied to my ankles.
And I feel the water all around me.
I am being consumed by the sea,
My mind is my own worst enemy.
There's that moment when I wake up in the morning,
And I get that feeling.
In my chest,
But it's not pain.
I feel like I am actually sane.
Or maybe a little more than that,
I feel creativity and happiness,
And just plain joy.
I can't describe this emotion,
I just know that I actually feel alive.
Maybe even more than that.
And I can laugh and I am okay.
But then there is the next day.
And the next,
Until it all goes away.
And then I am neutral.
I am not manic.
I am not depressed.
I am not anything.
I feel bored, irritated.
I don't know what I am.
Just plain, nothingness.
I don't feel creativity flow through my finger tips,
I feel this might be a sinking ship,
Fades to the next hour or so.
And I am once aga
Self-Harm Isn't a HandbagPick at the scabs of the ghosts of scars
On the insides of my wrists,
White hot pain memories shoot up my veins
And the tear vapour creates mists
In the lenses of my glasses.
My world narrows down to those
White stitch marks that keep the
Patchwork of my forearms and thighs
Keeping the dark ugly hurt
On the insides
How could I have done this to myself?
Could I blame you?
And her too?
I’m a big girl now,
And the blame rests on my wrists,
That flicked the blade
And sprayed the blood,
And the mind that forbade
Me to ask for help.
I’ve said it before
And I’ll say it again;
It isn’t beautiful
To put yourself through such pain.
When your head is buzzing
From the hit of the high
Of a new cut on your thigh,
Or your mind is lost in a mist
Of ecstasy from a new slice
On your wrist
And you’re dependent on it
A junkie needing a hit,
It isn’t pretty or cute or special.
No amount of kisses
Will undo the cuts
Or absorb the scars.
i think of bones encased in goldcall me sisyphus; my wrists
grip napalm nations & i am
parasympathetic. i speak
in cigarettes, more stippled
spinal cord than american
romanticist. sanguinary, pocked,
my pleural cavities leak
prozac pills & -
oh, this body has never
belonged to me.
I Just Have to Open My EyesMaybe if I close my eyes
It will make the monsters go away.
Maybe if I can't see,
I can hide from it.
I don't want to see,
The day that daddy left.
Or the day that you broke my heart,
The same way he did.
And used the fragments to make art.
If I can't see,
You walk away.
Maybe I can forever live inside this memory.
Of you and me together,
When I was still happy.
Maybe if I don't open my eyes,
I won't see mother cry.
But I have to eventually,
I have to look at the ruins that are left.
So I can find the pieces of everything,
That was broken.
And I have to see these tears,
To know that my fears.
And they hurt.
And that I can still feel something.
That I do still have a heart.
I can mend it,
Stitch it back together.
I just need to open my eyes.