Poem: “What’s This?”

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

A poem titled What’s This?

“What’s This?” By, Tara Davidson…

There are almost a thousand scars on this body of mine,
I know not how they got there…
There are hundreds of aches from injuries,
I know not how they occurred…
There are millions of ideas and notions,
I know not what to do with them…
There are so many deep emotions,
I know not how to express them…
There are so many unanswered questions & puzzle pieces,
I know not where they fit…

There are things I’ll never know for sure,
for this I am entirely certain…
There are things I’ll have to let go of,
for this I am entirely willing…
There are things I’ll have to start to mourn,
for this I am not looking forward to…
There are losses that cannot be put into words,
for this I must assure…
There are going to be many moments of confusion,
for this I know will occur…

There are times when I’m lost and truly feel broken,
but I must continue to endure…
There are times when things will get awkward & strange,
but I must keep trying to connect…
There are times where I’ll disappoint & remind you of this loss,
but I know you forgive & attempt once more…
There are times that there’s no excitement or vigor,
but you remember there was before…
There are things that I cannot regrow or replace,
but I miss me as much as you do…

Sometimes things aren’t fair, don’t feel logical, and rip at our core,
yet we move on and grow up & try to look forwards…
Sometimes what we hope for doesn’t happen,
yet we must strive to survive until we figure out the why’s…
Sometimes our paths are bombed and broken,
yet we rise through our rubble and retie our dusty boots…
Sometimes this life is sad and painful – tragic for some – life-altering for others,
yet we all feel the same losses, shames, and pains…
Sometimes shattered lives turn into beautiful mosaics,
yet we fail to see the beauty of being broken & reassembled.

I lose myself every few weeks and what isn’t lost is the me that’s always been deep inside. The me I was born as. The me that the world, all of the experiences I’ve had, the circumstances I’ve been in, nor brain injuries I have, can alter.

No matter how scary or confusing my world gets from time to time, I must never forget that my life-essence (or soul/energy) cannot be erased like my memories have been. Nothing can take my true self out of my nature. Nothing can alter the fabric of my being except for death.

I may be a different version of me – but I’m still me, and I’m still here, and I’m still trying my best to surpass what I’ve been through, am going through, or ever will go through, will grace and dignity. Not falseness or ego, but truly with grace and dignity for not only the me that was erased, but for the me that I still am.

Rebuilding through Suffering

My mind is on repeat of the who, what, and when.

The where, how and why, they seem to just fizzle out and float on by.

When my thoughts are all a clutter and there’s no order in my head; often I sit and wonder if that’s why I’m full of dread.

Hectic wandering – feeling lost, alone, and scared… Is this my reality; are these passing weeks really dreams; is this what amnesia truly means?

Nobody can warn you of the horrors unfolding, because not even they can imagine what memory loss is really withholding.

Your past, your present, your future years – they’re all held prisoner by this warden of fears.

Consciousness is but a state of delusion that you’re in control and can manage your contusions.

Breaking free is but a solution – yet there’s no tools, no instructions, no map, no signs, no meanings – mostly confusion.

Before you wake you’d better hope, dream, and pray, because who knows what tomorrow will erase.

Nightmares turned actuality, and nowhere to hide or find security.

Sometimes there’s a crack in the wall and I can stand proud and tall – but not often enough for me to huff and puff.

A constant state of ever evolving enlightenment – or am I just getting used to a life of torment…?

Nothing is certain, or safe, or fair – Everything hurts, and feels brittle and bare.

I put my fight face on and hope to inspire those who feel so dire – — If I don’t, who will? If I won’t keep trying, who will fail? If I keep fighting the impossible, and trying to be unstoppable, maybe – just maybe! – someone will come along and plug up this endlessly leaking well.

If I come up with ways to help others cope, maybe my life of pain will inspire some hope.

If I can ease the suffering of another, maybe my life of strain will let down gently like a feather.

If I can show others that life is truly worth living, maybe I’ll even start believing.

Sometimes to achieve, you must lastly succeed – Accomplish for others first, and then you’ll get your reprieve.

Maybe this is how humility works – First I suffer, then fight for others, then get a break in these hurts.

Maybe if I can prove you’re not alone, I won’t feel so abandoned – not by people you see, but by my own memory.

Not everything is so dire, when your life is aspired – but the darkness surrounds me, no matter how much light I can make afire.

Not every battle is won but more scars I have worn, not every torment is flung into the darkness it had come from.

I walk through the my life with my head looking forward – there’s no reason to look back – it’s been erased like a computer’s been hacked.

Do I sound dismal, depressed, congruently obsessed? You would be too if your mind had broken up and left you a mess.

You couldn’t possibly imagine what it’s like to live with an incalculable ration of who you once were; there’s no hope for a cure.

If I could choose to live without a fractured mind, I’d choose to be made whole… I’d live without the cruelty of a crime that robbed me of my most of my soul.

There’s no reincarnation here for me – once my mind was ripped from my skull…

It used to matter so very much that I find all my pieces for me to feel not so out of touch… now it seems those pieces, even if I could find them, are only unrecognizable bits of someone I’ve never known.

The “me” before amnesia is not the “new me” I am today – she has long since died and has decayed.

The “new me” now is tattered and torn, vulnerable and feels so scorned – I feel unusual in my skin, so very paper thin.

The hope in my heart is meant for others to use, for others to thrive, for others to stop this senseless abuse.

Memory loss is a thug without a care in the world – indiscriminately misusing its power to reduce, and traduce, and unfurl.

If there’s a solid end of what living life ‘un-alive’ can mend, I’ll be the first to find it out and spread it to no end.

I want all who suffer to be defended and made whole, whether one part at a time, or in total.

There’s nothing peaceful about a mind torn from who you’ve become since you were born – a new life awaits you once you’ve been shattered at your core.

I find joys, and solitude, and even means to ends – even if only to get me through and onto the undoubted next hurdle I must ascend.

A life without meaning is no life etal, so I dedicate my suffering to ease those who cannot think much if not at all…

None of us asked for a life so abruptly taken – even though we still breath, feel, think, and see… I fight for all who suffer, because it’s all that’s left in me.

Fighting gets me through the day, through the turmoil of my plight… without fighting I’d given up a while ago because there would be no other right.

If not for fighting through each and every step of the way, I’d be lost to the darkness of memory loss’ cold, dark, cruel nights.

If not for being a fighter I’d have nothing left, because once you’ve lost it all, that’s all you can be but bereft.

One day there will be hope, safety, and something I recognize as ‘myself’ – until then I’ll keep fighting on and fill up my internal bookshelf.

Many chapters will be written, many books it will adorn, one day my life will be full again and I’ll feel much more at home.

Not all is lost, not all is gone, what little bits are left I will use to build upon.

The tragedy that has befallen me will one day make me strong… one day I’ll look back at these times and wonder how I ever carried on.

Until then I’ll keep on fighting through until my bookcase is full and life has paid its due.

17mind-master675

Thanks for reading!

Would you?

Awe and Wonder

Awe and Wonder

Would you…

Sit with me on a porch on a cool autumn night drinking cocoa and watching twinkling stars?

Hold me close within your arms as we hum the tunes of our favorite songs?

Watch in wondrous awe as the shadows of evening sun-kissed leaves dance across my hardwood floor?

Purr with my kitten as he lay on my chest being lulled to slumber by the pulse of my breath?

Cuddle me close when the thunder roars and steady my shaking as it trembles into my core?

Watch leaves with me as they fall when they’ve lost all their hue of summer, tumbling into piles of crackled plunder?

Catch a wishing star and give it to me, so I can wish for more stars as they breeze past in the sky filling me with wonder?

Wander the woods and see what I see, majestic – wild – and free?

Walk with me through this world of hectic movement and overwhelming odds, to prove I’m not alone on my journey?

Take time to sit, to listen, to inhale the scent of nature and detect the sweetest whispers of the wind in the trees?

Sit down with your parents, family, children and friends and tell them if they ever leave you, you love them and you would miss them?

Allow yourself a moment each day to rest from your life and remember to be kind to yourself because you’re doing your best?

Look once a day in your mirror saying, “I love you so dearly,” because you’re the most important person in your life?

Take a moment to listen to the fears in your heart and face them one by one so you’ll become stronger than when the fear started?

Accept yourself and all of your flaws and realize you’re perfectly imperfect, but you are made from the stars?

I would – I do – and I hope you would too.

Love,
Tara (taratbox)

Thanks for reading! 🙂

Stormy nights – In awe and wonder

Sometimes, when the lightning is so bright it seems the sun decided so speed past the earth repeatedly, or when the thunder quakes so deeply that every bone in me vibrates, I wonder what it’s like to be the sky, the thunder, the wind, or the rain.
I wonder with glorious curiosity how quiet us humans might seem to them.
How small yet steady we might look to them with our wide eyes and shivering skin.
I wonder if they see us as obstacles to their paths, or observers, or participants.

Nights like this, where I feel the pressure of the changing wind in every joint, the booming thunderous roars reverberating in every bone inside, and the rain cold and sudden on my skin, I am reminded that I am a participant, an observer, as well as in awe.
The rain still strikes the ground after rolling across my skin.
The wind still moves as it twirls around my body.
The thunder still rolls through the land shaking everything.
The lightning shines brightly on anything above ground.

In awe…. in awe and wonder.

by: starburst565 on deviantart

“Prologue” by: starburst565 on deviantart