On January 10, 1983
my mother got her first look at me
weighing seven eleven
my parents thought I was sent from heaven
I was scared of the world I could see
I wish they would have let me be
I the spring of '85
my sister began to thrive
ever since she was born
she has been my thorn
I was scared of the world I could see
I wish they would have let me be
In the fall of '93
my parents fought in front of me
they took some time apart
but soon rejoined hearts
I was scared of the world I could see
I wish they would have let me be
In the fall of '96
my best friend was a mess
she tried to take things in strife
but she took her own life
I was scared of the world I could see
I wish they would let me be
In the summer of '98
I met a guy I thought was great
he would beat me for things I would say
for four years I couldn't get away
I was scared of the world I could see
I wish they would have let me be
In the summer of 2002
this fool I got married to
lies would all I was told
then our love went cold
I was scared of the world I could see
I wish they would have let me be
On April 9, 2003
my son got his first look of me
weighing eight nine
my life finally seemed fine
He was scared of the world he could see
He wished I would have let him be
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The writer in me
Check out my latest post in my other blog; about the struggle I am having in finding where I belong in the writing world. The writer in me
Monday, August 9, 2010
My Grief Story
Excitement filled my heart when I heard my mother call me into her bedroom one October morning before school. I had heard her on the phone talking while I was getting dressed for school. Erin, my best friend, was mentioned. It could only be that she was going to come over and stay another weekend. A few months prior to this morning, she had come to stay because her parents had gone on a business trip. Skipping to some unknown exciting news, I entered my parents’ room. The scene there was not something that I had expected to see. My sister and dad were both on my parents’ bed with tears in their eyes. My thirteen-year-old brain was completely confused. They would not be crying if Erin was going to spend another night. Maybe she had to move again. She had moved out of our town a year prior to this crisp and cold fall morning. I sat on my mother’s bed facing her with a look of confusion.
“Erin committed suicide last night.” were the words that escaped my mom’s mouth. Huh? What did that mean? Did she die? My mind was full of questions that were hard to understand at such a young age. As an adult, I find it rather odd that I would have asked myself if she had died when I had entered a room that was full of tears and long looks. My mom came in to hug me, but I still did not understand what exactly was going on. No tears or words came. It was as if my mind and soul were numb. My family tried to comfort me, but I lacked the understanding that why I needed the comfort.
That was the day when my soul and life were shattered into a million scattered pieces. Those pieces have yet to be picked up and gathered to make me the complete puzzle of the person I was before. Before the horrible loss, before the breathtaking moments that would later define every decision I would make, and before I was told by my tear stricken mother that my best friend-at the tender age of thirteen-had lost the will to go on. Her life was so bad and scary that she chose that the only way out of her black hole of emptiness was to stop breathing.
The morning I was told that my confidant was gone was the start of events that unraveled around the following years that were taken up by incredible feelings of grief. As I worked through the internal battle of angst and the external battle of going through the motions of the traditional events such as a funeral and visitation, I became a person that has been forever changed.
My family and I had arrived at the funeral home late; it had taken a while for me to get into the physical movements that needed to be done when my mind was somewhere else. There was only standing room left. There we were standing at the very far end of the back of the funeral home, while Erin’s father recited a poem I would never forget. It talked of a town putting “black gloves on” and “closing the streets” because “she was gone”. The lyrics are carved on her headstone. You could hear the strain in her father’s voice as he tried to get all of the words out. His strength amazes me. As we were making our exit out of the building, many of the friends and loved ones walked by Erin’s body to say good-bye. I refused. I did not want to remember her this way or I just did not want to say good-bye, I really did not know which one. I regret this action in hindsight. At the gravesite, her mother could be seen holding on to a ragged doll and sobbing. Her fragile body was hunched over and she required two people to guide her to her seat. The imagine of the doll with the tears flowing across her checks is one that I have and will never forget.
It was hard to understand what this new word to my vocabulary meant; suicide. At thirteen, I like to think I was not sheltered from the world of tragedy, but when it hit home my mind could not understand what was going on. I lived in denial for a very long time. This included the days up until the funeral and visitation. My teenage mind believed that at any minute my friend would bounce out from behind the scenes to reveal herself and the punch line to this cruel joke.
As my denial faded away, and it took a long time to do so, it was replaced with anger. How could she think that she had the right to leave me? How could she think only of herself? Didn’t she understand that everyone had problems? In the years we were friends I believed that we had a friendship where we could tell each other everything. I was angry at her for not telling me what she felt inside and about the battle that she faced. She had left me alone in a time when we were still growing into the women we would become.
Anger was replaced by guilt. Guilty for feeling angry, and guilt for not being there when she needed me. I felt guilty for not seeing what was wrong when she was in so much pain. Guilt is a powerful emotion after losing someone. It can take over your very existence. I spent years in the guilt tunnel. There are still times even almost fifteen years later that guilt rears its ugly head. This is one way that this experience has changed me forever. Even as a grown woman with kids of my own and to this day I will have a moment where I belief I could have done something, anything. Prior to her death, my friend had hosted a Halloween party and I felt-and sometimes still do feel-as if my costume was a bit too dark and therefore forced her over the edge. The costume was the reason that suicide even crossed her mind. I had been dressed as a witch prior to her showing up to get me for her party, and out of boredom, I drew lipstick (blood) lines on my wrist. It is strange to think that I did not know what suicide meant but knew what it was enough to include it in my costume. Sometimes I regret not asking her to move in with my family after she moved away, thinking that maybe that could have saved her. My guilt had at one point taken me over to the point I wanted to join her. I thought that because of what I had done to her that I too did not deserve to live. How I am still alive today is still a miracle to me today.
My companions today have become Guilt, Depression and on occasion Acceptance. Although Acceptance comes in waves, when it does come I realize that my live is richer for knowing this broken soul. I find it very hard to believe that after so long I am still a tornado of emotion. This moment in my youth has defined many of my actions. My heart skips when I hear of another lost soul that has chosen to end their life. I feel for the survivors that are left behind, for the dead that had felt dead a long time prior to the last breath, and my heart still goes out to my friend who I could not save. Every breath is worth breathing.
“Erin committed suicide last night.” were the words that escaped my mom’s mouth. Huh? What did that mean? Did she die? My mind was full of questions that were hard to understand at such a young age. As an adult, I find it rather odd that I would have asked myself if she had died when I had entered a room that was full of tears and long looks. My mom came in to hug me, but I still did not understand what exactly was going on. No tears or words came. It was as if my mind and soul were numb. My family tried to comfort me, but I lacked the understanding that why I needed the comfort.
That was the day when my soul and life were shattered into a million scattered pieces. Those pieces have yet to be picked up and gathered to make me the complete puzzle of the person I was before. Before the horrible loss, before the breathtaking moments that would later define every decision I would make, and before I was told by my tear stricken mother that my best friend-at the tender age of thirteen-had lost the will to go on. Her life was so bad and scary that she chose that the only way out of her black hole of emptiness was to stop breathing.
The morning I was told that my confidant was gone was the start of events that unraveled around the following years that were taken up by incredible feelings of grief. As I worked through the internal battle of angst and the external battle of going through the motions of the traditional events such as a funeral and visitation, I became a person that has been forever changed.
My family and I had arrived at the funeral home late; it had taken a while for me to get into the physical movements that needed to be done when my mind was somewhere else. There was only standing room left. There we were standing at the very far end of the back of the funeral home, while Erin’s father recited a poem I would never forget. It talked of a town putting “black gloves on” and “closing the streets” because “she was gone”. The lyrics are carved on her headstone. You could hear the strain in her father’s voice as he tried to get all of the words out. His strength amazes me. As we were making our exit out of the building, many of the friends and loved ones walked by Erin’s body to say good-bye. I refused. I did not want to remember her this way or I just did not want to say good-bye, I really did not know which one. I regret this action in hindsight. At the gravesite, her mother could be seen holding on to a ragged doll and sobbing. Her fragile body was hunched over and she required two people to guide her to her seat. The imagine of the doll with the tears flowing across her checks is one that I have and will never forget.
It was hard to understand what this new word to my vocabulary meant; suicide. At thirteen, I like to think I was not sheltered from the world of tragedy, but when it hit home my mind could not understand what was going on. I lived in denial for a very long time. This included the days up until the funeral and visitation. My teenage mind believed that at any minute my friend would bounce out from behind the scenes to reveal herself and the punch line to this cruel joke.
As my denial faded away, and it took a long time to do so, it was replaced with anger. How could she think that she had the right to leave me? How could she think only of herself? Didn’t she understand that everyone had problems? In the years we were friends I believed that we had a friendship where we could tell each other everything. I was angry at her for not telling me what she felt inside and about the battle that she faced. She had left me alone in a time when we were still growing into the women we would become.
Anger was replaced by guilt. Guilty for feeling angry, and guilt for not being there when she needed me. I felt guilty for not seeing what was wrong when she was in so much pain. Guilt is a powerful emotion after losing someone. It can take over your very existence. I spent years in the guilt tunnel. There are still times even almost fifteen years later that guilt rears its ugly head. This is one way that this experience has changed me forever. Even as a grown woman with kids of my own and to this day I will have a moment where I belief I could have done something, anything. Prior to her death, my friend had hosted a Halloween party and I felt-and sometimes still do feel-as if my costume was a bit too dark and therefore forced her over the edge. The costume was the reason that suicide even crossed her mind. I had been dressed as a witch prior to her showing up to get me for her party, and out of boredom, I drew lipstick (blood) lines on my wrist. It is strange to think that I did not know what suicide meant but knew what it was enough to include it in my costume. Sometimes I regret not asking her to move in with my family after she moved away, thinking that maybe that could have saved her. My guilt had at one point taken me over to the point I wanted to join her. I thought that because of what I had done to her that I too did not deserve to live. How I am still alive today is still a miracle to me today.
My companions today have become Guilt, Depression and on occasion Acceptance. Although Acceptance comes in waves, when it does come I realize that my live is richer for knowing this broken soul. I find it very hard to believe that after so long I am still a tornado of emotion. This moment in my youth has defined many of my actions. My heart skips when I hear of another lost soul that has chosen to end their life. I feel for the survivors that are left behind, for the dead that had felt dead a long time prior to the last breath, and my heart still goes out to my friend who I could not save. Every breath is worth breathing.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The Good and The Bad
You have to take the good and the bad
with every experience you've had
what happened to yesterday
a new day that is done
was once full of thrilling fun
why does the good go away
what about today
the day that is here
is full of terrifying fear
why does the bad stay
what about tomorrow
what will I feel then
will I feel the exalting good again
Tomorrow always fills with sorrow
everyday is a new page
of life; but only in this confusing stage
is there no happily ever after end
Written by: Hope L.Brock
(Age 16)
with every experience you've had
what happened to yesterday
a new day that is done
was once full of thrilling fun
why does the good go away
what about today
the day that is here
is full of terrifying fear
why does the bad stay
what about tomorrow
what will I feel then
will I feel the exalting good again
Tomorrow always fills with sorrow
everyday is a new page
of life; but only in this confusing stage
is there no happily ever after end
Written by: Hope L.Brock
(Age 16)
My Fairy Tale
When is my night
while Cinderella got the dress
glass slippers
marriage to a prince
I lived in her midnight
When is my night
while Snow White got the dream
seven dwarfs
an awakening kiss
I lived with her stepmom
When is my night
while Sleeping Beauty got the fairies
the kingdom
true love
I lived with her curse
when is my night
where is my fairy godmother
where is my generous servant
where is my true love
where is my fairy tale
Written by: Hope L. Brock
(Age 16)
while Cinderella got the dress
glass slippers
marriage to a prince
I lived in her midnight
When is my night
while Snow White got the dream
seven dwarfs
an awakening kiss
I lived with her stepmom
When is my night
while Sleeping Beauty got the fairies
the kingdom
true love
I lived with her curse
when is my night
where is my fairy godmother
where is my generous servant
where is my true love
where is my fairy tale
Written by: Hope L. Brock
(Age 16)
Who am I
Who am I
what makes me me
what will I be
what makes me sigh
I am an animal in a cage
wrapped in a rage
with flying fists
with a deadly wish
what makes me me
everything you can see
along with the stuff inside
the emotions I choose to hide
In my future life
I will be a faithful wife
a mother of three
this is some of what I will be
many things make me sigh
seeing a grown man cry
everyday
someone sees pain and looks away
Who am I
Written by: Hope L. Brock
(Age 16)
what makes me me
what will I be
what makes me sigh
I am an animal in a cage
wrapped in a rage
with flying fists
with a deadly wish
what makes me me
everything you can see
along with the stuff inside
the emotions I choose to hide
In my future life
I will be a faithful wife
a mother of three
this is some of what I will be
many things make me sigh
seeing a grown man cry
everyday
someone sees pain and looks away
Who am I
Written by: Hope L. Brock
(Age 16)
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Poetry Products
I have decided to put my poetry talent (a bit modest I know) to good use. As gifts -birthdays, christamas, thank yous, and just because, I will be writing a poem printing it out in some way and then giving them out. I could laminate the paper or frame it in cute picture frame. I can get some dollar ones from the dollar store. I will see how it goes. If you are interested in a poem for a special occasion please contact me at hopelbrock@yahoo.com.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)