Thinking in Rhyme

2. Aug, 2013

I used to waltz and dance a treat; the lads would sweep me off my feet
Now I sit, my legs too weak and if I stand my bladder leaks
My skin was taut and honey tanned; I made those castles in the sand
As I ran past the boys would gaze, I still remember through the haze
Of drugs they give - to make me live a few years more – Oh I am so sore…
If I complain, of pain you know I hear them say they stay away
Cos happy folk take far less time, and I should be grateful in this home of mine.

My mother used to curl my hair before she took me anywhere
She’d shine my shoes and check my nails taking time to tell me tales
Of times gone by when you dressed for tea, and sang round the piano as a family
Sundays off we went to church – the kids called the Minister –secretly – ‘lurch’
We thought he drank the holy wine, his face was red and he lurched all the time!
We dared not speak aloud of this, the grown ups would have had a fit.
My early years I can recall, losing people off at war
Mothers stoic, sometimes crying - lots of talk of people dying
Women working on the farms – in the factories - needing arms
Secret beddings, hurried weddings such a time it was for sure!
But here I sit – sometimes I wonder is it ‘I’ or am I ‘It’?
Oh they know I am a shower assist; a feed and transfer with a lift
I hear her say ‘she is off with the fairy’ – I don’t like that one called Mary.
They seem to worry as they hurry about their boyfriends’ car
To them I am no longer me; to me they don’t know where they are!
My family know me really well and if you listen they can tell you what I’m trying to say
And you explain just how my brain affects me in this way.

Together we can work it out, I have no doubt the skills are there
But it’s not enough to say you care – to meet our needs we have to share.
Today I sit in a quieter daze; the roses hold my weary gaze
“She’s depressed’ - take her walking – I hear the girls talking

My man gave me roses – he died on this day
Cant they leave me to grieve – am I so far away from a person with feeling?
Am I just a depression that needs wheeling into the sun?
If they just looked deep in my eyes they’d see that I am still alive
I have lived, I am living, I’m not ‘It’ – when I call - I am me, I can see and I feel damn you all.
Don’t assume I’m in a cleft between the living and the dead
Why aren’t they taught I have not ‘left’ ; I’m not a mouth to just be fed!
If they knew of my life and all that is me
They would know the sun glows in my memories
If they read all the lines my life tries to tell
They would stop all this pain and I would not yell
I don’t need much – some human touch; to feel that I still live

It’s not my choice I have no voice but learn how I can give
You lots of signs from this world of mine about how I want to Be.
My eyes will tell, and I won’t yell - if you take the time for Me.

Now here’s my Bec - sweet little one; she talks TO me and we have fun
Her laughter echoes in my head late at night in my lonely bed
Her touch is real and I can feel she knows that I am Me
And all the while Her lovely smile a cherished memory.

Author Rhonda Nay