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Literature Text
"There are good days and there are bad days," you would say to me as you would try and explain away why the whiskey bottle was empty again this morning, why you smelled like her and why you thought it was best to let me know what you had done. At least that way, you were absolved of the gift of lying; the one your bones were too light to lift and just couldn't take, by bestowing me with betrayal.
My mother would bring me an encouraging cup of tea in a giant pink mug instead of a cup and explain, "There are good days and there are bad days." Her eyes were always full of positive energy and strength and good will. I look back to those days and try and gain the strength she had in her bones from her words. I always fail.
They told me I had a disease within my bones. It started from the bottom of my knee and was moving upwards. Because that is what bones did. They broke from the inside out. "There will be good days and bad days," they warned me. I knew at that very point that it was going to eat my bones and spit them out once the muscle and strength from them had melted.
There have been good days and bad days, I tell myself as I hold your hand, waiting for the last of the treatments that may save the structure that is holding me together, before it falls apart completely. You ask me if I would like some water. I say yes, a glass, if it would help my bones grow back. It worked for plants. It may work for me, too.
You look at me, puzzled for a few seconds before asking if I am all right.
"Today is a bad day." I say quietly, "I can feel it in my bones."
My mother would bring me an encouraging cup of tea in a giant pink mug instead of a cup and explain, "There are good days and there are bad days." Her eyes were always full of positive energy and strength and good will. I look back to those days and try and gain the strength she had in her bones from her words. I always fail.
They told me I had a disease within my bones. It started from the bottom of my knee and was moving upwards. Because that is what bones did. They broke from the inside out. "There will be good days and bad days," they warned me. I knew at that very point that it was going to eat my bones and spit them out once the muscle and strength from them had melted.
There have been good days and bad days, I tell myself as I hold your hand, waiting for the last of the treatments that may save the structure that is holding me together, before it falls apart completely. You ask me if I would like some water. I say yes, a glass, if it would help my bones grow back. It worked for plants. It may work for me, too.
You look at me, puzzled for a few seconds before asking if I am all right.
"Today is a bad day." I say quietly, "I can feel it in my bones."
Literature
I Was In A Bad Place
I’ll indite my crude and clumsy rhymes
From my place in the pitch dark
And will wait all night if needs must
For that one creative spark
That will manifest thoughts in my mind
Into a charged lightning bolt
Strike my memories, open my wounds
And let writing be my salt
So cut me and see the metaphors
Floating around my blood stream
Pour salt on the literal lesions
To punctuate my primal scream
As painful at first as the memory
But after the initial sting
Wounds will heel, leaving only scars
Numbness replaces everything
This lack of feeling is temporary
As a writer I live for the pain
Of opening up new abrasions
To keep me lucid and sa
Literature
I Comfort Myself
With a warm drink, whispering secrets to my own reflection.
The struggles that plague me, though none may know,
Are only for the ears of my quiet mirror, who smiles
Softly, warmly and with care. He tells me, I'm fine
I've done well for now and soon I may finally rest.
Though the silence continues to press upon me,
Weighing upon my soul like an iron crate.
Still I find comfort in whispering secrets,
If only to my own reflection - holding a warm drink...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 17th October 2012
Literature
The Man Who Burns
I am too sterile and static
I can feel you walking away
Into the arms of the man who burns
But then again why would you stay
He is so young and beautiful
He lives life while I rehearse
Acting upon his desires
While I write about mine in verse
Our love was Russian roulette
Without bullets in the chamber
Passing the gun back and forth
Without any sense of danger
The fire in your heart has gone now
This cliché is not lost on me
Metaphorically I'm the water
That dampened our destiny
You said you would never leave me
But this contract was never binding
I want you to find your freedom
If there's a freedom worth finding
Bey
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I wrote this for a friend of mind who has struggled through her pain with so much grace that it would humble the hardest of men and women.
The remark she made that always stayed in my head: "There are good days and bad days."
She told me she wanted a story to never ever forget how she felt about what she had gone through. I don't think I can ever capture her grace, her beauty and her wisdom, but I did try and give her her words back.
I am humbled by the fact that she liked it but I can give her something better. Ritu. You are an angel amongst mortals and you will always be my beacon of strength.
The remark she made that always stayed in my head: "There are good days and bad days."
She told me she wanted a story to never ever forget how she felt about what she had gone through. I don't think I can ever capture her grace, her beauty and her wisdom, but I did try and give her her words back.
I am humbled by the fact that she liked it but I can give her something better. Ritu. You are an angel amongst mortals and you will always be my beacon of strength.
(This story was included in my book as well, as per her request.)
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Hmm...I think I'll show this to someone with osteoporosis I know.