Thursday, July 3, 2008

At My Door

I am not a writer of prose or poetry, but these words seemingly wrote themselves with my own hand while having my morning coffee one day last week.

It has been almost a year since I began this blog, and I have been reluctant to write about MS and how having it effects me on a level any deeper than in silly metaphors or laughs and digs at the doctors and drug companies.

So, on the almost birthday of Bubbie's Blog, I'll share this with you.





At My Door

I removed myself from you
Played a game
It's all a game
Led you to a faraway place and
Left you there
Locked myself away to stay untouched
still scarred, un-knowing you

I heard you many times
Knocking at my doors
Rattling my windows

Wearing the mask of normalcy
I turned my music up
Closed my eyes
Busied myself in the days and
Drugged myself in the nights
Anything to deny you
To make you a distant memory

But you are always there

Like quicksilver you seep into my safe haven
Waiting for me as I wake
Inserting yourself in my days
Making me question my tomorrows

I can't run from you
Wish you away
Disguise myself or surround myself with anyone who does not know of you

You are undaunted
Unafraid of the weapons and arsenals given me for my protection
I hear you laughing
Can you feel me weep?


4 comments:

mdmhvonpa said...

Happy birthday!?

BRAINCHEESE said...

You write as beautifully as you paint...and I feel so fortunate to see your work and read your words!

LINDA D. in Seattle

Vicki said...

Good poem for someone who professes not to be a poet. Touching and quite clear.

Joan said...

That's very beautiful and touching. Thanks for sharing your morning coffee inspiration with us all. I really relate to this...

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