MY NEUROLOGIST SAVED MY LIFE TODAY SORRY I WILL NOT STRESS OVER IMMATURE PERSONS SENDING TERRORIST THREATS ON LICENSE PLATES TO A TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURED DISABLED WOMAN TODAY AH TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY RELIEF GOD BLESS AMERICA
I run my hand across my wrist,
The rough scars feel normal under my fingers,
But to anyone else, they would be foreign.
I was a fighter, I had to be,
But everything has its consequences.
Running the blade across my own wrist was mine,
It was the only way for me to feel something.
Since I was small I was forced to be strong,
But a child should not need to be strong.
I wasn’t even 14 and I had to fend for myself,
I had to pick up my broken pieces.
The scars on my body tell that story,
They are reminders of my pain.
I run my hand across my wrist,
The rough scars remind me that I will survive,
I did before, and I will now.
Love is everything,
A game, a passion, a dream.
Basketball, my greatest love,
So tiring, but so much fun.
Though I cannot play today,
An injury keeps me away.
Jumper’s knee, it makes me wait,
Oh, what a shame, but I still won’t hate.
The pain, the cramps, the hard work too,
But it’s worth it for what I do.
This game is part of who I am,
It lifts me up when I feel down.
My love for you will never fade,
Basketball, you’ve made me brave.
You’ll always be my favorite game,
Forever I’ll love you the same.
"...in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush."
— D. H. Lawrence, Kangaroo
Paraboloid totems of evergreen hope, upside down,
Sparkling white trinkets, sparkling white dears;
‘What do we need to do now?’
You ask;
I got my husband’s winged blue stone gift around my neck, a dragonfly,
Isn’t my green dress an ornamental kingly shroud?
Both stormy and luminous, the cuts on my arms are still caked in dried blood,
You are sad: your heart bleeds into mine with a bit of emerald dust and ruby red sunrises;
The Doctor is the Rose; I am the Flame
You are all marble, Plato, self-contained,
I am grotesque, decaying, Lilith-born,
My scars are trim poodles
Whose slightly wolfish eyes
Will bleed a blazing cornucopia of yellow wattle sprigs;
Doctor, your heart is a gold mine and joyous as Spring
Divided under the cities
streams mapping decisive
endings while toiling about
the beginning boldness
reaching for braising
characters galloping
amidst a certain angst
we’ve devoured nothingness
and opened the sky
with truth thrashing
tempers meaningful tools
craving an emptiness
above the continuous
Bayshore a quiet offering
pelicans landings sinking
yet surrounding the
jaded light house that
withered to soon exposing
only the dim lantern leaning
to one side still brightening
the rippling waves
Written by Yolanda Nicholsen
April 7th 2014
getting injections
for traumatic brain injury
When I was in high school,
I had a fall,
It was from a cycle,
but changed my all;
I had ligament tear
in my right foot,
Could not go to school, got
typhoid to boot;
Weak in my body and
stressed in my mind,
When I did go back, I
fell way behind;
I lost my life's purpose,
Despair set in,
I failed in my exam
to my chagrin;
Had a nervous breakdown,
Redid one year,
Mind full of sad questions,
Heart lost all cheer;
Today, when I look back,
I wonder why
such a thing was allowed
by God on high;
To teach me a lesson
about setbacks,
To increase my small faith,
In God relax;
I learnt to lean on Him,
when troubles come,
He taught me to stand strong,
not to succumb;
All things happened for good,
This I know now,
Eighteen years have gone by,
I've grown and how;
That phase transformed my life,
It was a test,
In hindsight, I perceive
God knows what's best.
I went outside to pee
Underneath the cactus tree
But now I'm in the Ho Spittle
The cactus fell on me.
Oh the cactus tree the cactus tree
I went out to pee and it fell on me.
The cactus tree the cactus tree
It's such a mystery.
This is a story about Barry Hunt
Who tried to pull off a remarkable stunt
He tried a bungee-jump without using a rope
He then fell to the ground the silly dope
And now his head is turned back to front.
He now sees everything from the back
Which often leads to a panic attack
Because now when he needs a poo
And he has to visit the loo
He simply just doesn’t have the knack
It’s even worse when he needs a wee
Because Barry can no longer see
His aim is so bad, which really makes him sad
Cos to get bullseye he would need a degree
This story of backwards boy Barry
Ends with him finally becoming happy
He then got a job as a teacher, which became a magazine feature
And now he was a celebrity chappie
With his eyes now on ‘the back of his head’
He could see what the children had said
Although there was no cure, he got awarded Teacher of the year
And he celebrated when his name was declared
Barry partied all day and he partied all night
He danced the ‘backward robot’ until it was light
Despite Barry’s backwards life, that night he met June his wife
and now Barry and June are doing alright.
My prayers are with you my dear friend,
your daughter’s mishap a sorrowful event.
I pray God to hold her and lay hand to mend.
With all warmth and love my words are sent
and pray God’s speed her injury to tend.
To all who responded and have care for others, thank you.
Pangie reports that her daughter is fine - 10/13/2022
Our friend and fellow poetess, Panagiota Romios, asks our prayers for her daughter who suffered an eye injury today. I have no other information at this writing.
Strange - how one can know of a thing
yet not know it.
That I should perish someday is no secret ...
but how well do I know this?
My injuries before were always superficial.
A scar upon the surface
but no loss of function.
Now, my form has changed for the worse.
Not by much, perhaps, but such small changes
are the first stumbling steps toward the pit.
A small loss of enamel,
a thumb that may never bend as far as it once had done.
Trivial losses in the grand scheme of things.
But there is something utterly terrifying
in taking damage that cannot be repaired.
And the roads of tomorrow seem so much more
wreathed in shadow now.
31 August 2022
Oh, shrill lark, just breathe. You rage too well.
Seek no comfort in wretchedness.
Renounce the gossamer moon, curse starlight
with a breathless voice - if you must - but let love be.
As the saddest tale fades after telling,
undistinguishable kisses fade like dewdrops.
Seasons alter, you will love again and love better
laughing unabashed, at the memory of this gentle injury.
Parked at the side of the road
She cries the same salty, sad tears that she cried yesterday
And the day before that
Seems to be the norm lately
These woes taking a toll on her health
The last year has been a trying one, much in part due to circumstances beyond her control
Injury has affected her capabilities and dwindled her confidence
Alliances with key colleagues have become tense
Communication has become strained, misunderstood, or overlooked
And that makes her sad
Because going from spending the last 10 years in a job she loves, to counting down the minutes of every 9 to 5
Is not who she is
But somehow, her work no longer exudes the passion and pride that it used to
The struggle to find joy in each day adds even more weight to the heavy sadness she's already carrying
And if she was to be honest
She's not sure how much more she can take
Or how much longer she can wear this game face
@katladyt_t
February 20, 2022
Stubbing a toe hurts like hell
Count to ten or curse and yell
Never to learn, walking in bare feet
When suddenly brick pillar my foot did meet.
Limping, near crying I hobble indoors
My stupidity again put me in the wars
Elevating my foot hoping pain quickly ease
Controlling each breath as I slowly deep breathe.
Scrapes of skin and beginning to bruise
My little toe, shades of red and blue hues
Swollen, still swelling and when I think back
I'm sure I did hear the sound of a crack.
Pain killers inside me, indoors I did stay
The bruising and toe was bigger next day
My tiny toe like a mini fat sausage
Shoes always wear - my imprinted self message.
12.08.21
There should be no time to lose
Thinking of yesterday's blues
And of pain that left a bruise.
14 years confused on a pitch without the goals
never knowing how I fell through so many holes
as each I fell through another would unfold
the brain just couldn't process storing in the vault
to later analyse and process the result
but storage overflowed and the circuit cut short
a breakdown stopped their process postponing the report
the brain was overwhelmed from continuous assault
it's called a mental breakdown retreat from the revolt
rebooting only vital zones and limiting your thoughts
thanks to overwhelming stress continuous and cold
flight or fight for too long sees hormones flood the skull
changing how the mind works and the person on the whole
misdiagnosed depression through symptoms it unrolls
but rain floods are not a sea these hormones will dissolve
psychiatric injury doesn't stay until you're old
it's not a mental illness that doctor can't solve
injuries repair themselves, a bruise a scar a hole
people caused your pain, don't let them be involved
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