The letters she searched for day and night, something to tell if believing it was worth living. We go through and through the alphabet branding it in our hearts. Not specifically knowing all objects in a room, but knowing it is people not things that make you happy.
Oh you will be stamped, much like a tattoo, of numbers...of matching. A code in the tomb, the one that comes back for you. From head to toes relinquished Chance to remember. I again thought I was forgotten and damned in the Psych Unit. Only for a week. It was terrifying. So terrifing to think of the death there in the hospital revolving so quickly as I stay starring at time in my bed. One dies, one comes back. I carry the boys, another carries the girls and the baby bells ring in accordance.
Gentle now, hush she will hear you. Did you think he likes all that pain to bring you sauntering into the room, yet again? It would he like a healthy baby boy born into Concord not via c-section, but more like the creation itself. Labor pains. And he feels the warmth of his mother's chest immediately...not sterile cold instruments and doctors hands grabbing at him or the bright lights of the room...could you imagine how scary that would be to a baby? Or a shot? Even if in the foot, how scary? That is why I cringe at the sight of blood, those babies know!!! They have been woven, from an embryo as if a woven in a loom of beauty. Trying to tell you their rhythm. Trying to tell time from the blood drawn. Timed perfectly.
Babies don't come out with tattoos. I felt like an unwanted and burned baby in the psychward, just laying there and I could feel the pain of all of it. Burned to a crisp with the cycle of abuse in my heart...of the history repeating. But babies don't die in ConCord...where there is a loom always intricate counting an weaving and appreciating what they do have. There is much more to write about this insanity....but how will I ever write with no hands? The body parts were taken from me spiritually dissolved, until I was nothing but air in the past never remembered. I was a flatline. I was forgotten. I could not even muster a scream. I was blue, and tears flowed. I was a countdown to what I do not know. I was just in a cell. And I couldn't get up for fear I was glued together wrong...like a monster.
And the thought came to me then, that God would love me as his child, no matter what I looked like inside or out I would be loved and cared for. That made me think of all differabilities and the struggles people go through to be alive...and it made me so appreciate how gifted I am, even with this invisible illness that scares people, and myself. I am alive and well and not a monster! And if I ever once was baby that didn't live, I know how that feels too...and for whatever reason I have all these memories, it must be for a good reason. The sower did not make these scars on me...life did. And in my spirit true and true I love all life.
I felt very slow mentally, like I was light years behind the rest of the people...maybe I am. Maybe I am not in one place and am in the other...maybe that is my particular battle. To just be ok where I am at any given time. No matter what realm I am in...
Oh you will be stamped, much like a tattoo, of numbers...of matching. A code in the tomb, the one that comes back for you. From head to toes relinquished Chance to remember. I again thought I was forgotten and damned in the Psych Unit. Only for a week. It was terrifying. So terrifing to think of the death there in the hospital revolving so quickly as I stay starring at time in my bed. One dies, one comes back. I carry the boys, another carries the girls and the baby bells ring in accordance.
Gentle now, hush she will hear you. Did you think he likes all that pain to bring you sauntering into the room, yet again? It would he like a healthy baby boy born into Concord not via c-section, but more like the creation itself. Labor pains. And he feels the warmth of his mother's chest immediately...not sterile cold instruments and doctors hands grabbing at him or the bright lights of the room...could you imagine how scary that would be to a baby? Or a shot? Even if in the foot, how scary? That is why I cringe at the sight of blood, those babies know!!! They have been woven, from an embryo as if a woven in a loom of beauty. Trying to tell you their rhythm. Trying to tell time from the blood drawn. Timed perfectly.
Babies don't come out with tattoos. I felt like an unwanted and burned baby in the psychward, just laying there and I could feel the pain of all of it. Burned to a crisp with the cycle of abuse in my heart...of the history repeating. But babies don't die in ConCord...where there is a loom always intricate counting an weaving and appreciating what they do have. There is much more to write about this insanity....but how will I ever write with no hands? The body parts were taken from me spiritually dissolved, until I was nothing but air in the past never remembered. I was a flatline. I was forgotten. I could not even muster a scream. I was blue, and tears flowed. I was a countdown to what I do not know. I was just in a cell. And I couldn't get up for fear I was glued together wrong...like a monster.
And the thought came to me then, that God would love me as his child, no matter what I looked like inside or out I would be loved and cared for. That made me think of all differabilities and the struggles people go through to be alive...and it made me so appreciate how gifted I am, even with this invisible illness that scares people, and myself. I am alive and well and not a monster! And if I ever once was baby that didn't live, I know how that feels too...and for whatever reason I have all these memories, it must be for a good reason. The sower did not make these scars on me...life did. And in my spirit true and true I love all life.
I felt very slow mentally, like I was light years behind the rest of the people...maybe I am. Maybe I am not in one place and am in the other...maybe that is my particular battle. To just be ok where I am at any given time. No matter what realm I am in...