wisekittycolor

[wisekittycolor]

beautiful so far…

[wisekittycolor]

March 29th.

She dreams of pages inked in prose,

Of stories, poems, colors that glow.

Of paints and sketches, lifelines drawn,

A world of art, her mind to spawn.

She hopes her journal tells her tale,

Of moments when she did not fail.

Of nights she wept, of days she fought,

Of dreams she held, though they were caught.

To be someone, to rise above,

To find success, to feel the love.

She writes her truth, she paints her pain,

Hoping her words will break the chain.

One day, perhaps, when time is through,

She’ll see the strength that bloomed and grew.

And from the pages of her strife,

A legacy will breathe to life.

-Makayla.

[wisekittycolor]

a beautiful poem I dedicated to myself, made by myself.

March 23rd Makayla.

A ginger-haired girl, with a spirit so bright,

Her laughter a spark, like the sun’s warmest light.

Small in her stature, but mighty in soul,

Her world is her home, where she feels most whole.

She loses herself in the pages of books,

In poetry’s rhythm, and art’s gentle looks.

A young mother, with love deep and vast,

Her heart knows the beauty of moments that last.

In halls of care, she works with grace,

A touch for the weary, a smile on her face.

She brings warmth to the cold, and peace to the strife,

A soft kind of courage that shapes her life.

But outside those walls, the world feels too loud,

She seeks solace in silence, away from the crowd.

Her home is her haven, where she’s free to breathe,

In her cozy cocoon, where she can believe.

Her ginger curls frame a mind full of dreams,

In her quiet little world, nothing’s as it seems.

A poet, an artist, a mother, and more—

She’s everything beautiful, from the inside, out the door.

[wisekittycolor]

March 21st.

a wish for peace on earth.

In a world where pain and sorrow lie,

Where hearts are heavy, and spirits cry,

I wish for peace, a gentle shore,

A place where suffering’s no more.

No disease, no weight of endless fear,

No shadowed minds that disappear.

No bombs, no guns, no shattered cries,

Just love beneath the open skies.

Where children laugh, and families stay,

With food and water, come what may.

Where homes are safe, and hearts are warm,

A world untouched by any storm.

Though dreams of such a world may fade,

The wish remains, a promise made.

For in each act of love, we find

A spark of hope that heals mankind.

[wisekittycolor]

[wisekittycolor]

March 14

anxiety.

my anxiety watches me from above like an owl eyeing its prey, it swoops down and grabs me with its sharp piercing talons. watches me lifeless, pale, withering in pain. I cry and plead but my anxiety picks me apart and watches me bleed.

[wisekittycolor]

"I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited."

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals

[wisekittycolor]

-Sylvia Plath, The Letters of Sylvia Plath Volume I: 1940–1956

[wisekittycolor]

[wisekittycolor]

March 13th.

random.

trees, bitter sun, white walls, new names, new faces, new clothes, voices echoing and pleading from down the hall, the smell of stale urine, ammonia, my face blushed, sweet sweat drips down my temples, face mask, influenza, loud banging washing machine, humming dryer that deafens me, powdery gloves, hand sanitizer, nourishing hand cream, pushing, pulling, folding, delivering, bitter air, almost full moon, hands damaged, dull aching wrist, cracked pavement, dampness, thoughts blooming in my head…

[wisekittycolor]

what I once was….

working sucks, being an adult sucks, non stop thinking, debating, money, relationships, doctors appointments, school, health cards, id’s, unwanted parenting advice, politics, politicians, rich men.. It’s never ending. bills, phone bill, water bill, electricity, heating and cooling, mortgage, house insurance, care insurance.. I don’t want to live like I’m being swallowed by the cooperates world, spit out when I’m 65, arthritis, blood pressure, bad heart, stress management, riddled with the thought life is almost over. soon to have dementia a small frail version of myself that’s been forgotten. unable to walk, feed myself, bath myself, unable to form a coherent sentence, incontinence, long term care. my memory slowly leaking out of my brain, slowly turning into a rasin, soaked up by the nightmare of dementia. a void. forgetting what I once was, what I was living for, who I shared my life with… nurses, psws, doctors, blood work, psws doing my care “miss I’m going to brush your hair” I stare blankly as a young child I’ve forgotten how to use my words or unable to get them out. confused, scared, unsure, vulnerable, laying in a hospital bed, staring at the rectangle plastic lights, wondering how I got here? where’s my son? my husband? have they forgotten about me? do they visit me? or have I forgotten them as well… do they hold back because they can’t stand to see me as such a frail version of what I once was. a strong independent, bold, red headed, loud, women? I’m so alone, I feel so alone, the people who care for me are strangers. they read my care plan, through words they try to grasp the idea of who I was and details about my life, but they’ll never actually know what I once was…

[wisekittycolor]

sun please come back…

8:14am dreading the day to come, planning every scenario in my head… leaving to stroll to work at 3:30 only a ten minute walk, I remind myself over and over, only ten minutes. I walk as if I’m being chased my favourite scubs on, pink sweater, pink coat, forest green winter boots, embroidered side bag made by my mom when she was in collage, pink headphones, playlist on shuffle. on the verge of panic, I need to turn around, I need to keep going, walk faster, we can do it, we can get there, I reach my work drive way and I can finally let out a breath. finally. to do list after to do list, keeping myself busy, clean, organize, declutter, re-arrange my room. stare out the window of my bedroom on the top floor peak of the house, so much snow, so bright it hurts your eyes, sun fogged over, not an end in sight. February l feels as if it lasts forever. never ending misery, cracked hands, dry face, achy jaw, itchy legs.. sun please come back, soak up this misery, soak up the self loathing loneliness.

[wisekittycolor]

the curiosity of the 115 year old house…

sometimes I wonder what this house looked like before my family moved in 42 years ago, my mom tells me this house never had a second floor, our kitchen wasn’t there it was an addition, I wonder what it used to smell like? who the people were and I don’t just mean by name I mean who they really were. I have been told it was a man who lived here, him and his brother built mine and our neighbours house, a well made in the middle of our houses, with a little path way, big windows both sides, was he a lonely man? did he have a wife? kids? was he friendly? was he a prude? did he like to read or write? did he like to take photographs? maybe he worked long days at the old lens mill and would sit by the river on his lunch break and take it all in…. come home and wash up, make himself a tea, sit in front of the fireplace and wait to do it all over again the next morning. did he fill with dread thinking about working the long days? callused hands, dirty face, tired eyes, shaken legs…. I yearn to know. this house holds so much history, the people, the feelings, the changes, the dinners, lunches, breakfasts, the falling in love, and out of love, the laughter, the warmth of the sun on summer days peering through the kitchen softening the glow of our honey stained woodwork…

[wisekittycolor]

Peter Birkhäuser

[wisekittycolor]

mornings in bittersweet despair…

my mornings start early, warm, in bed under my favourite, always freshly washed sheets and blankets… “ocean breeze” I wake up hearing my son bedside me and his quiet sleepy voice “mommy is it morning time” “yes baby it’s morning time” as I rub my eyes, blurred vision I ask him to pass me the tv remote so we can watch cartoons and lay in bed for just a few more minutes… yelling and commotion coming from downstairs, dogs barking, things falling over, chaos has ensued for the day, already beginning at 7am. I’m so tired, tired of the fighting, the barking, whining, the unorganized clutter filled home that is a time capsule of the 50s… the house hasn’t changed, the people have, this house holds 42 years of memories for my family. the 115 year old house in all its glory.