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Less you, More me
From above if you were watching through
a fine telescope
my wise ass remarks
would help you to understand
that it means nothing
to die. One life to create memories,
one breath to forget. Then Alzheimer
kicks you and sets you on fire
with nonsense. I try to laugh
to cover up my turmoil of
uneasiness at these awkward situations
when the brain ceases to speak,
when the mind is muddled with
words you never thought
would make you cry.
Hold on
to that patience, you will need it.
There was a time I lost everything in you.
Now I speak to my soul and repeat
less you, more me.
All this to convince myself that I still matter
somehow, before the memories fade
or the cancer grows
or the breasts disappear.
It’s Hawaiian day at work
and I will wear my hula
tell all the teachers how I appreciate
their soul
hug a child
and try to forget about the telescope.
Hold on to your soul,
you will need it.
Comments:
26
You can let go of many things….but never let go of your soul.
it’s been known to happen lol
Hell…maybe that’s what’s wrong with me and I just don’t know it. 🙂
hahahaha 🙂
Christina, the feels…. Oh my goodness. Woman, your writing is otherwordly good… Damn.. ❤❤❤
thank you Soeline, love your visits xx
Haunting. Alzheimer’s is such an insidious disease.
thank you Tosha, yes it is, lived through its pain
Sorry. I went through it with my grandmother. I feel for you
my mother-in-law, thank you deeply x
Prayers
Yes… hold on! Fantastic poem, Chrissy!
Thank you shatzi xx appreciate it, this one seems to have touched many people. so glad you think so too
The water is so damn deep. <3 <3 <3 <3 Love your words and you, Poetess.
always x
Xx
I watch . . . through the telescope and I see you grow.
❤️
The way you think in words makes me think for real guess that’s why I always read you.
That’s something! I love that!
Reblogged this on georgeforfun.
Powerful. Another good one.
Reblogged this on Christina Strigas .
are our memories
who we are
~
a theft
breaking bonds
waves expanding circles
we take our memories and analyze and reconstruct til there is nothing left and if you are a poet, you really deconstruct them until the memory turns into another one with each passing poem