A Slow Start

At last, a décima for Ronovan’s décima challenge this week and for FOWC: Contain! This took a while, since I tried since Wednesday to even come up with one line.


This verse is difficult to start:
What themes and words should it contain?
May inspiration soon regain
Its strength, as it speaks to my heart.

A poem is building, part by part.
It seems as naught in readers’ eyes,
Yet words encourage; my pen tries.
Let patience have its perfect work:
Show up, and be sure not to shirk
Daily attempts — to win the prize!Ronovan Writes Decima Challenge Image

If There’s a Reason….

For this week’s Weekly Scribblings at PSU, Rommy prompts us with several lines from the musical “Hamilton.” This brings back a lot of memories because I was really into the musical when it first came out, and certain lines from it really inspired and motivated me at the time. This is not a poem today. This is prose, and this is nonfiction.


“Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder.” That line could be the summary of my life.

Except, dying wasn’t all that easy, either.

With depression as persistent as it is, and the eating disorder which covered it being so dangerously severe, I’m amazed that I did not die. Soon after the musical “Hamilton” came out and my friend introduced me to its songs, I was in an intensive therapy program (again) to help with the eating disorder behaviors and consequences (again). I had heard that anorexia has one of the highest mortality rates of any mental illness, with up to 25% of sufferers dying, especially if they do not receive treatment. Thinking about all of the people I had met during my recovery journey — it was at least 4 dozen. Take 25% of that; that’s how many could have died already, when I was given a second chance and a third chance. Sometimes, I didn’t even want those extra chances, so why did they not go to somebody else?

I had asked myself — still do, in fact — why I got treatment, why I’m still alive at all. Even during that stint in the therapy program, I was inspired by another line from “Hamilton”: “If there’s a reason I’m still alive when so many have died, then I’m willing to wait for it.” Two years later, I revisited my journal from that time, and I was still waiting yet also re-inspired. If I ever find out the reason why God saved me, I am still willing to wait for it.

Dizzy

Quickly time passes; seconds run
To minutes, years from hours, days
And on and on it goes, always
Ticking off moments one by one.

At what young age had I begun
To be aware of how it whirls
So dizzily, turning that girl
Into a woman? Barely born
And so soon learning then to mourn —
Yet still rejoicing over pearls.

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Catharsis

For FOWC: Cathartic, I have an acrostic poem. Sometimes, what is really cathartic for me is to type a free-verse, ridiculously-honest, stream-of-consciousness poem into a draft but then not to post it. When that happens, I’m often tempted to post it anyway, but in the end I decide not to let my freak-flag fly that much. 🙂 Another thing that I find cathartic is to throw ice cubes outside, into the concrete, while yelling about whatever is bothering me. It’s actually rather fun, although I usually do it when I’m alone so that I don’t get any weird looks from my family. 


Cry
And rage,
Taking aim,
Helping
Acrid
Rancid emotions
Taper
Into a
Calmer stage.