You know those old Christmas lights? When one bulb in the string of lights burns out, the rest of them stop lighting up as well. One would have to search through the entire string of lights just to find the dead one. When that one is replaced, the rest would shine once again.... But oftentimes, it isn't quite the same. If the lights were colored, the old, red one might be replaced by a blue one, disrupting the entire pattern. And even if it's not that drastically different, more often than not, the new light sticks out, even if it's subtle; the color may be a slightly different shade than the others, or the bulb may shine brighter or duller than its friends. You see, life is similar in that way. Most things are not entirely replaceable. And oftentimes it is way more heartbreaking than a broken Christmas light. A fifteen year old girl can die suddenly. The world keeps spinning and the vast, vast majority of people on Earth continue with their lives, oblivious to the devastation happening in the relatively small string of people whose lives were touched by the young girl. But to them, especially the ones closest to her, it can feel like an earthquake. A hurricane. A tsunami. To them, it is Earth-shattering and life-changing. To them? Well, their lives may never be the exact same again, because when that little girl left this world, she took a piece of the heart of everyone who cared about her... Some pieces bigger than others. And in her place is a dark spot, one that makes everyone in her orbit feel like they can no longer light up, either.
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I'm dedicating this poem to one of my best friends, Sarah Todd :) She's been through a lot the last (almost) 6 years of her life, but has found new passions to replace the holes left by the old things she can no longer do. ST has found a way to pick up the pieces and put herself back together; I admire that a lot!! <3
01/28/2017-- I always hated the last stanza of this poem. Kinda awkward. I finally changed it. Still not perfect, but a lot better, in my opinion. :) Pieces, broken cov'ring the floor; A trail of me lead to the door. I couldn't keep together, me; When a wave hit— disparity. Nobody knew, because my face Was happy, smiling, full of grace. But inside of me was a sea Of anger, of sadness, not glee. Was drowning in that water that Consumed me; chased me like a cat After a mouse. No one could see The storm, the war inside of me. So pieces, on the floor they lie; Could leave them there to petrify. Or I could pick them up, maybe, And show the world I can be free. As a young child, Your biggest worries Are the weather- Will it rain today?- And which annoying sibling Stole your toy. As a young teen, Your biggest worries Are clothes And friends And homework. Other than that, You have your life ahead of you. What do you want to be when you grow up? You get many more years To think about that. Who's your best friend? It may change soon, it may not. Your answer might not be what it was a month ago. But you have fun regardless, Fun with the day's BFF. What will you wear for picture day? Will it be a dress or a skirt, Jeans or leggings? In a year that will not matter; You have your life ahead of you. No problems as a young teen, Young and in middle school, Or as a little kid, Playful and innocent, Should last. They're temporary. You're young, you're naïve. You think it will last, The care-free nature of childhood. You feel old, And yet you don't truly need to worry. You shouldn't have to worry about Adults in white coats And stethoscopes, Thin white sheets On a button-filled bed, Tests and tests and tests To tell you what's wrong. Pills to make you feel better. You shouldn't have to worry about Whether or not you'll get better. Whether or not your life will begin again, Whether or not these fears will last The rest of your life. You don't think they will last. Why should they? They never have before But slowly you are forced to realize, As a child, That they're not going to leave. They'll stay with you forever, Unlike 6th grade picture day Or a failed math quiz. Unlike a lost toy, Or wet clothes. They're forced to grow up, Forced to mature beyond their time. One day We might find a cure, A cure for illnesses Affecting children. One day We might find cures, And save the innocent, necessary childhood Of many. We can only hope. And believe. And pray. And be aware. American Revolution. Civil War. World War I. What do they have in common? Pain. Violence. Suffering. Fatigue. Fear. My war Is not unlike those. There are fights. All day every day, I battle. I battle the enemy, Hoping to win. It lasts a long time. I get no sleep; I am always tired, But the pain Keeps me awake. Strength is needed, Strength to thrust the sword Or hold up the gun. Strength To fight back. Energy is drained. Why so quickly? Energy is drained, And I wish I could take a break To re-charge. Can't concentrate On anything else. I can't leave the enemy To fight me, defenseless. It won't win. It can't. Every second spent distracted, I am hit And wounded. Pain Shoots through my body. I am knocked down, But I get back up. Energy is drained Some more. I just want a break, Just for one second. The lights dim outside, And it's ready to sleep, Ready to forget the battles. But the enemy attacks At my weakest point. Why didn't I see it? I spend the night Fighting some more. And the cycle begins, Everyday more exhausting And painful Than the last. When the sun comes out, When I see a moment of light, When I knock them down for just barely long enough, I see What makes it all worth it. I see What I'm fighting for. I fight For my dignity. For my family, For my friends. I fight, To help others Who battle as well. I fight For my pride, For my God, For my life. And I am grateful That I have reasons, That life is not just an endless battle. For the battle is inside of me, And I cannot escape. Personally I find this slightly cheesy, but that's ok. Also, this was supposed to be a song as well, but again I got lazy and just tweaked it to be a poem. :) Appreciate
The things That are Loved. For those things Can be taken Gone In an instant. In a snap of fingers, A puff of breath, A tick of a clock, A skip of a rock. Keep the seconds Of the life that we live Counted. Because everything we know, Everything we have, Everything we love, Can go. Take care of the things That can be gone. They can leave In a snap of fingers, A puff of breath, In a tick of a clock, The skip of a rock. If we appreciate Anything at all If we appreciate Things big and small If we count the seconds Of The Life We live All the time, We'll know That Everything we love Can Go. Here's the first short story of mine to be posted on this blog! I actually wrote it for a project for school, but thought I'd share it since it's definitely one of the best short stories I've written in awhile. Also... Shout-out to my bestie Sarah Todd for giving me the idea for this story!!:) My house took four long, hard months to build.
My daddy and my big brother Robert nailed pieces of wood together, hiking the five miles to town to buy more when they ran out of materials. Every day when I went to see it it was bigger and bigger, until finally it was as big as it would be. When they finished I helped my mom paint and furnish the inside. Finally, it was completely done, and that made me very, very happy. I had watched that house grow for four months, and now it was finished. My family moved in, and every time I looked at that house I couldn't help but feel that it was mine. Every night my mom made dinner in the little kitchen, and every night my family came together to eat it. That kitchen in that house, my house, was a place of togetherness for my family and I. Every night I cuddled up in my thick quilt on the bed in my small, cozy room. I could see my window from there, and every night I fell asleep looking at the stars. That room in that house, my house, was a place of wonder. One day I came home from a long, hard day of school with only hours of homework on my mind. As I came closer to the house, I saw smoke. Thick, gray clouds of smoke. I dropped my books and started running. As I approached my house, I saw huge red and orange flames. I didn't know what to do. My brother was still at school, my dad was working and my mom was shopping in town, so nobody was home. Nobody was there to help me. Nobody was there to save my house. I ran the well dry pouring water on it but it was no use. I sat down, tears running down my face as I watched my house shrink closer and closer to the ground. Finally, all that was left was a pile of black ashes. Devastated, I ran. I ran far, far away. I ran past the river, past the trees, deep into the woods. Finally, I collapsed at a rock and, exhausted both mentally and physically, fell asleep on it. When I awoke, my mom was shaking me. It was dark out. I got up, at first confused. But then I remembered. "The house..." I croaked, but my mom shushed me and assured me that we would find another place to live. And we did. But it just wasn't the same. Years later, lost in my thoughts, I made a wrong turn upon coming home from work. I knew I should have turned around, but something told me to keep going. So I drove. And drove. And drove. Finally, I stopped, seeing a row of identically built houses. One, though, stuck out to me. On the outside, it looked exactly the same as the others. However, I knew that it stood in the exact place that the house my father and brother spent four months building once did. The house of my childhood. My house. The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Is Sad. Its leaves are dropping, Dripping With Rain, Filled with despair. The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Is Happy. Hugging me With Shade, Filled with joy. The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Is Scared. Shaking In the Wind, Filled with fear. I miss those days when The tree, leaves so green, flowers so bright, Would tell me How it felt. But now I'm grown; Now I know That trees cannot do such. But wait. Is that the tree Saying he's crushed? I can feel the tree beaming with pride When I decide to stop And Say Goodbye. |
AboutHi, I'm Jen Starzec, and I'm 19 years old. I write a lot about disability and chronic illness, especially related to my main disorder, Transverse Myelitis. I also have a lot of poetry and some short stories. Enjoy! Categories
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