Some Things

Some things

are so personally vexing

that they need to be written,

to be vented,

analyzed,

over and over.

The meaning parsed,

trying to find the positive

inside the negative mess,

that is weighing so heavily

In my heart.

Some things

are too personal

to publish,

Too personal to tell a friend.

So hurtful

that they feel like they will burn a hole

in my heart

forever.

Some things

cause a grief

that feels like it will never heal.

No matter how much

I purge

and try to move on.

A grief that will always be there

waiting for a word or thought

to trigger a memory.

Some things,

feel like they are too much to bear,

because they are.

What to do

What to do when you’re so tired

your eyes hurt

and are trying to close

while you type?

Keep on blinking and rubbing?

Or stop reading, watching tv, checking your phone,

And doing whatever you can think of to do?

Just go to bed.

Maybe.

Too tired to decide what to do.

Fact vs. Reality

Today's musings triggered by watching too much news on tv. 

You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

Not true.

You should speak the truth.

And what about the living?

They say the truth will set you free.

But at what price?

Good question.

What is the price for speaking truth?
What is the price for lying

or, as some call it,

distorting the truth.

Is it fact or reality?

Then it is truth.

The problem is

In today’s world

It’s hard to know what is

Fact

And what is

Reality.

If indeed,

the definition of truth is reality,

Then we have a problem.

Because reality is

In the eye of the beholder.

So the question becomes,

Does reality set you free?

And at what cost

if reality differs based upon

Perspective

And circumstance.

My truth

may not be the same

as your truth.

And that is the crux of the today’s problems.

The reality,

The truth

Is

We each have our own truths.

And it is our individual truths

that shape what we will fight for.

and how we will fight

for what we believe

Is right.

Reality can be a scary

and dangerous

thing.

And that is the truth,

For me,

at least.

Political Jargon #1

Political Jargon #1

Widen the lens

and watch the optics.

No, we’re not talking about photography.

This is the age of

political language

based on art.

Ironic, isn’t it.

Watching and Waiting

Watching my mom

asleep in her hospital bed

and wishing she would just

Let go.

And then I wonder,

Is that me being selfish?

Or wanting to put her out of her misery?

Maybe it’s both.

If I tell myself that

Maybe I won’t feel as bad

about

wanting my mom

to give up.

Her face has started to smooth out

I remember when my grandma died.

She looked beautiful,

Her skin looked young again.

That is what is happening with my mom’s face,

except she isn’t dead yet.

And that is what scares me,

Maybe she really is that close.

Writing. Stories.

Writing.

The act of putting words on paper

in an organized manner

to tell a story.

Story.

A narrative,

either true or fiction

The writer’s burden.

How the story is told

Is what matters the most.

How the story is told
will determine if it is read.

How the story is told

will influence

How people hear, see, and smell it

How people perceive the actions

How people will judge the characters.

Truth.
or

Fiction.

A good story contains both.

So does life.

Writers tell stories

with words.

Singers tell stories

with words and music.

Actors tell stories

with words and actions.

People see and hear what they want to hear

and sometimes

They hear it in a way

that touches their heart.

That is when the story or song

becomes art.

Writing

Stories

can be a way

to touch someone’s soul.

Laughter

Laughter,

They say it’s the best medicine.

In a hospital bed,

IV pumping fluids in,

unable to get up without assistance.

The television is on,

It’s a “modern Family” comedy marathon.

She looks almost radiant,

watching,

laughing,

And then the laughter causes a cough.

And for a moment,

the frailty returns.

Until her face relaxes

and transforms

as she smiles and laughs

again.

Laughter.

It may not cure the disease,

But it makes it more bearable.

And that is good enough.

Fly Away

Sometimes I feel like

I want to fly away.

Sometimes I feel like

I already have.

Like I spread my wings,

soared,

and look where it got me.

Right back where I started.

Sometimes i feel like

I want to fly

away from my life,

To anywhere but

here.

Sometimes I feel like

I already tried that,

and it got me nowhere

but

Right back

where I started from.

Or maybe it just feels

like that.

Maybe it’s true

that

the more things change

the more they remain

the same.

And flying might feel free

while you’re doing it,

But at some point,

you need to land.

And then what.

Being Human

Accept.

Adapt.

Change.

Grow.

Settle.

Not necessarily mutually exclusive.

All are part of living.

Raw

Raw.

That feeling when

things that mean the most

to me

Become fragmented.

Raw.

That feeling when

it seems like

everything that matters

Is falling apart,

Dying before my eyes.

Literally.

People are dying.

Relationships are dying.

Love is dying.

Raw.

My heart feels like it has been

torn into pieces.

painful, 

tender,

injured,

exposed.

Which is worse, being the one who is aging or the observer?

I may have made this one longer than it needs to be.
The condensed version is:Which is worse,
feeling your life slip away faster every day
or watching as someone you loves
is dying before your eyes.

Long version:

As I watch my mother sleep

I wonder

Which is worse

Feeling your life slip away from you

at a faster rate today than yesterday.

Knowing you are stuttering over a word

that you thought you knew how to say.

Knowing from the look on a face

that you just asked something

they have already told you,

probably more than once.

Knowing that you can’t fully control

bodily functions.

Knowing that you can’t do things

that make your life worth living.

Not wanting to be cared for,

And praying that you could just go to sleep

and not wake up..

Or is it worse to be the daughter, the son

watching a parent

become the needy child.

Knowing you are helpless to change the course of events,

Knowing you need to be positive on the outside

even if you are crying inside.

Knowing you need to be strong

for your parent

and for your own children,

who are watching a grandparent slip away..

All the while wondering,

Will this be me someday?

Will I be a burden on my children?

Will I cause this kind of stress?

Am I handling this the way I should?

Which is worse?
Which is more stressful?

Aging or being the witness?

Am I being selfish to even wonder?

Stress or selfish?

Neither one is what we wish for.

Both thoughts are part of the cycle of life

And a sign of the strength of love.

Ties that bind.

Create fear, worry and wonder.

Wonder that love can be so strong

And so confusing

Yet so sure.

Heat

They say that a poem a day

Keeps the doctor away.

The doctor of doom.

Very funny, she said

With a laptop

On a pillow in her lap.

Too hot.

Baby, it’s cold outside

So the heat is on high inside.

Add a battery to the mix

And it IS hot.