Too Hard

You know, writing isn's always easy - sometimes I just stare at the screen blankly and force my fingers to begin their dance over the keys. Other times the laptop can't keep up with my thoughts and I get frustrated and angry and smoke far too much. The worst thing though is what has just happened - a great idea - some research and then - I know not why but everything I typed turned into little squares. Of course I know it was formatting thing - but I don't know how to reformat on this blog thingie. So it had to go and here I am starting from scratch; of course it was Booker prizeworthy writing - well, maybe not.

It was about a some poetry that I had used in lessons - The Great Zoo by Nicolas Guillen, a Cuban revolutionary contemporary with Castro and Che. He wrote poetry for the revolution and  its aftermath. His book the Great Zoo takes all the hideous injustices of the world and imprisons them in a zoo where they can looked at safely.

I was thinking about and wondering it this illness of mine could be put there - what would the label say?

DEPRESSION

Approach with care - 

this exhibit is prone to sudden changes

we do not know why

note the markings on the arms

self inflicted - 

we do not know why

Yes, she smiles now but when you leave

she weeps- 

we do not know why

Something like that I think. Or maybe something like this?

Self Harm

See the marks - how deep

look how she makes them bleed

again and again

There is pain in her face

Sometimes the knife shakes

as she draws it across the skin

She is afraid of the pain

but more afraid of 

not feeling it.

Too much you think - maybe? But I find a certain freedom in using Guilen's methods. One more...

The Suicide

This one treat gently 

She is undecided yet

All is at hand -

the pills

the knife

She will not speak to us

She knows we call her to live

She does not know how 

to answer the call

yet