I wrote this first one when I woke up this morning as a way of reflecting upon living with multiple chronic conditions.
Living for the good days
There are lots of days
When my body doesn’t work,
My brain’s on high alert,
Immune system is a jerk.
There are lots of days
When I can barely walk,
It is difficult to talk,
Can’t arrange my thoughts.
I had a job that I had to lose
To take a job no one would chose.
It might look like I have every day off,
But I’m always on the clock,
And yeah it can really suck.
Just like everybody’s working for the weekends,
People like me are living for the good days.
There aren’t many, but as long as they exist,
I make it my mission to persist.
The chance that today could bring me a good hour,
It’s where I find my power, it sweetens up the sour.
Because as long as there are good minutes,
This life, I’m still in it. I am living,
Living for the good days.
I’ve had people tell me
That they couldn’t do what I do,
But they’re not the ones walking in my shoes.
Thoughtless people say. “I wouldn’t want to live”
For those kind of people, I have zero fucks to give
In this life we are living,
You play the hand you’re given.
No way we’re always winning.
You make your bets, accept your losses,
Wear your truth and bear your crosses
No shame in getting what you need
There are many ways to succeed.
A lot of folks who have it all find themselves getting bored.
Then they take out their frustrations on the global poor.
True happiness isn’t measured in the GDP way
True happiness is found when you look for the good days.
That’s why I’ll be looking…
That is why I’ll be living,
Living for the good days.
This second poem is about how I spent last year reclaiming the narrative surrounding being a survivor of rape.
2023
Took a year to address my trauma
I was tired of being controlled by the drama
I reclaimed my story and made it my own,
Reinforced this foundation, built on these good bones.
But then I was asked what I had been up to
A difficult question because so many never knew.
I kept quiet about all the shit that I had gone through,
Breaking my silence had been decades overdue.
When you’re a survivor of such a rare disease
Your story can seem hard to believe
The way I was abused is not what most people think
Unexpected lead to neglecting the truth I would seek
It was the end of a pandemic, and maybe a new start.
The end of my silence, and the reclaiming of my heart.
Justice is elusive, and it still slips from my grasp.
Naming my assailant could be slander, so I must settle for truth at last.
Don’t owe that bitch my guilt, silence or shame.
Why does it matter if I ever say her name?
I was eight years old, left in the care of one I loved.
Eight years old, didn’t know too much of
Life and all the ugliness that little girls often face
In one afternoon, she had destroyed the whole place.
So I ran and I cried, my childhood had died.
I buried the memory; hid it down deep inside.
I built these walls around myself, and walls around others too,
The things she did to me, I’d make sure she wouldn’t do
Again.
Now the walls have given way, and new light has broke through.
It is time to move along as much as I am able to.
Time to find my voice, time to make a choice,
Time to reclaim time, and time to rejoice.
I cleaned out this closet, and got rid of these old clothes.
The guilt, the pain, the shame are things she now owns.
I’ve found a way to finally be free
That is how I spent my 2023.
I've always loved your poetry. It tends to speak to me more than other poems. It's been a goal of mine to learn more about poetry. I've gotten a couple of books, but I haven't gotten very far in any of them. If you decide to work on these more, I look forward to reading the finished product.