You dream.
You dream of having the "perfect" body. You dream of your eyeliner being even. You dream of finding "Mr. Right". You dream of a face clear of acne, Of being beautiful enough, Of being funny enough, Of being skinny enough. Us girls? We dream. But these are all generalizations, Of course. Dreams fed on stereotypes. Whether we all dream these kinds of things Or not, They're just surface-level dreams. Deep-down, We dream Different dreams; We long for different things. Deep down, You dream of being GREAT. We dream of being doctors who treat cancer, Of being the scientists who cure it. We dream of being astronauts, Police-women, Firefighters, Professional chefs, Football players, Engineers, Surgeons! So.... What stops us? Why do we seem to dwell on the surface-level "dreams? Why do you tell yourself that being GREAT Is less possible than clear skin? Who Says You Can't? Who makes you out to be weak? To be whiny? To be shallow? Who says that us girls Dream only of having the "ideal" body? So as to... What? Get a man? Who says that our Futures Are built upon the ideals Of men? The things that society says are beautiful: The high cheekbones, Long hair, Flat stomach, Thigh gap, Long eyelashes. The lack of muscle on our Arms and legs, No meat on our bones. Society believes we need these things So a guy will find us Attractive. So we can have a family And be a housewife. Why can't we define OURSELVES? Why can't we base our lives off of Ourselves? Off our own ideals? Why can't our goals, Our desires, Our wishes Be based on our own successes? You're living in a man's world, honey. We're living in a man's world Where it's more realistic To dream of fitting a mold, Where it's more realistic to be Ordinary. They want you to be inferior. They want you to be ordinary. But you're NOT. You don't have to be. You go out there and show them That it's YOUR world, That you are, in fact, Extraordinary. You go out and show them That you're MORE than mediocre. You're smart. You're driven. And you have just what it takes To make the world Believe in You And your Dreams.
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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. This poem is dedicated to my friend Alex, who also battles TM. She helped spark this poem; we were having a deep conversation about this topic a couple weeks ago. She appears in this poem as "a girl". :p
Our TM stories are very different, and yet we can still relate to each other in many ways!! I thought having another story interwoven into this poem would help get the point across, since the "little thing" vary from person to person. :) Enjoy! I'm proud of this one. From the time I could hold a pencil, Could form shaky letters with the graphite tip, Only semi-legible, I loved to write. I'd write stories, Imaginative and mysterious, About wizards and dragons and princesses; About talking flowers and animals, and taking a trip to the moon. When I was a child, I had a routine with my father. A few days a week we'd practice pull-ups in the basement. He taught me a lot about life with those pull-ups: "You can always try to do one more." He taught me to push myself, and push myself I did, In every aspect of my life. I loved roller coasters, Especially ones With the biggest drop. I loved the feeling of my stomach in my chest And screaming loudly with my arms in the air. I know a girl Who loved fuzzy socks and hot showers, And skipping and dancing while she walked. When you're paralyzed, When you have a chronic illness, A lot is taken away. I can't walk well; she can't at all. We can't run or ride a bike, And both of us Have overwhelming Pain and fatigue. We're teenagers, And can't keep up with our homework, Let alone our friends. But that's not what puts a lump in our throats everyday. When I think of the little things, Like writing with my right hand, Or doing pull-ups with my dad, My heart Aches. When I think of riding a roller coaster, When I think of the pleasant drop of my stomach Instead of dizziness and pain That lasts for Hours, I feel sick. I miss them, The little things in life. When people look at someone who's disabled, When they find out what ails them, They say that they'll Learn To appreciate the obvious Like walking and running. But that's hardly what people take for granted. That girl Cannot feel the warmth of the water dripping from the shower head On her legs; It's something most of you experience Every. Single. Day. No one would give it a second thought, And yet she'd kill to be able to feel it Just once more. It might not seem like much, Since she can't feel the wind traveling through her hair As she runs, Or move anywhere Without pushing the metal rims On hard rubber wheels. And yet, When she sees the water Slashing across her lifeless legs Every day, The warmth is what she imagines and longs for. Not walking. You write with your dominant hand Every Single Day. You use it to write out checks, To scribble out a grocery list, To write a quick note to your mom: "I'm at Jane's house". You've written like that since kindergarten; There's no reason to give it A second thought. But I miss it. I miss writing with my right hand, But I can't. Paralysis has ruined it And it's doubtful it'll be "Fixed". Yes, it's the little things that hurt the most; We may never know them again. It's the little things that make my heart ache, That make me the most nostalgic. It's the little things I most often wish to have back. The minuscule, "Unimportant" Things are the ones we do Every day. The things that are part of a routine, The ones we are most used to, Are small puzzle pieces in life That leave holes When taken away. And we want to find those pieces, To put them back where they belong Because they create a sense Of normalcy. Because when so much of your life has been taken away, When so much is missing, You crave the little things Day After Day. 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. I lie awake When sleep won't come And think. Think about life, How this essay And history test And physics problems Won't matter a year from now. When I think about the future In this way, It's blissful. It seems So simple, So much happier And brighter. The future is unknown, and As long as it stays distant, I can pretend It'll be perfect. But I'm kidding myself. For when I think of the pain, When I remember that It likely won't leave, My life Seems long, and The future looks bleak. The future is unknown, and When I think of it in this way, That there will be many more Arguments, more Stubbed toes and hangnails, Broken friendships And betrayal; More sorrow, More grief, More disappointment, More pain, It looks no different. Life seems an endless battle, Day after day after day We all fight. This will never change. But I think about the good things. There will be more hugs, More kisses, More birthday presents and Wishes. More sweet chocolate, Sipping lemonade in the sun, And heart-warming books. More love, More happiness, More warmth, More fun, More LIFE. And the future no longer looks bleak; Life no longer seems too long. I don't dread what's to come, because The future is unknown For a reason. As I lie awake I think About what I look forward to, And smile as I drift to sleep, And dream about the future. I wake up
And look out the window. The beautiful snow glistens and sparkles. I am six years old, and unafraid. I wake up And look out the window. The annoying snow is speckled and in the way. I'm sixteen years old, and ignored. I wake up And look out the window. The dirty snow is messy and a pile of slush. I'm thirty-six years old, and overworked. I wake up And look out the window. The lively snow glistens and sparkles. I'm sixty-six years old, and unafraid. When hope
Has faltered; When the last Straw is gone; When the world is dark, Deep clouds That cover The Sun; When the towel's Thrown; When loneliness Has grown; When it seems there's nowhere, Nowhere to go; When the answer to all Seems to be 'no'; Just Listen to the wind chime, Remember Life's a mountain to climb, Look at All that's in its prime, And try, Try One More Time. Even though I mention "sister", this can be about anyone you love: parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, cousins, partners, uncles, aunts, pets, teachers, whatever. And no, I wasn't having these overly-dramatic feelings about my little sister one day... I was just bored and this popped in my head (although I do love her to death) :) This is really just a general, cute little poem that's a bit on the cheesy side. :p There for me
Always. To cheer me up when I am down, To make me feel I'm wearing a crown. Special In Those Eyes; I mean something. Loved In Those Eyes; I AM something. To keep me Going, Going through Life. I can never Give Up. Thanks, my best friend. My Sister. |
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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