Journey Towards Acceptance

This poem was prompted by a conversation
last week, between myself and my daughter.

Journey Towards Acceptance

I would flit past magazine
adverts for disability aids
like a  passer-by might
snub a considered lesser being,
but today I pause.

A stair lift!  –  she shudders.
But the house would
look disabled.

I say nothing,
leave it with her;
she will get back to me –
she does.

I’m sorry;
I really do understand.
But can I help you choose
a colour that doesn’t
smell of incontinence?

 

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Surrender

Today is the 10th anniversary
in my recovery from alcoholism.

Surrender

I became a street actor
on stilts, to see over
walls erected by
years of despair.

I would strut clumsily,
attempting to dance to
whoever played the
loudest tune,
juggle frantically
with balls of denial,
resentment,  guilt
and fear, until

quite unexpectedly
the stilts cracked,
broke and forced me
to the ground,
avalanche of
bittersweet pain,
post-war grit
lining my mouth.

Tentative clusters of
hope shining through,
unyielding walls now
crumbling painfully
around me, I knew
the journey had begun;
I thank God
the performance is over.

An Update

This is just an update so you all know I am not ignoring you!

Thank you to everyone for your lovely comments!

My eye surgery went well.  However, because of a pre-existing eye condition the recovery process will take longer.  It will be another month before I have full focus, so my time on the computer will have to be rationed – this will involve a certain amount of self discipline!!  So please forgive me if I do not keep up with comments too well, it is of necessity and not because I am ignoring anyone.

It is good to be back though, even if limited.  And thank you all for your words of encouragement which have helped me through an anxious time.

Christine

Today’s Plan

 

Today’s Plan

Today’s plan is simple;

I will sleep,

though I may wake briefly

to hiss at sibling,

oh, and for food, of course.

And maybe for an

occasional miaow

just to be appealing.

But best of all I will wake

to stick a back leg in the air,

spread the other far and wide

and wash my bottom,

but only if it’s worth it,

say, if there’s a visitor.

Being Real – Being Me

Being Real – Being Me

She’s so brave,
I can hear them say,
never complains,
always a smile on her face.

They are not talking
about me.

They are talking about
someone whose
disabilities are far more
debilitating than mine.

I am not so brave;
I do complain;
I don’t always have
a smile on my face.

But I do my best
and that’s enough.

Wendy L. Macdonald

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