Why is it that when you share with others that someone you love is sick or is dying, the question they ask is “How old?” So you tell them the age and the response varies depending on the age.
A baby makes people sad because life wasn’t lived. If you say an age over 80 then the response is “Well at least they lived a good life.” Is it supposed to hurt less because they were older?
In actually it hurts more because there are more memories and stronger bonds. Heck if it’s family it hurts because you will miss their facial expressions, their hugs, the tears they shed for you because they worried for you. They cared for you like no other could. Heck that response gets me upset and a bit irritated.
Continue reading “The elderly and ….”
Staring at the mirror
Not liking what I see
I wish to be someone else
I don’t want to be me
My relection then speaks
“Who the heck do you want to be?
There is no one better than you and me.
So start smiling and be proud
No negativity is allowed.
You are amazing and you are great.
So stop it with all the self-hate.”
Have a great day.
His life had ended in such bloodshed
His heart had stopped they all said
He should have stayed home instead
But he didn’t so now he’s dead
Arise from your slumber I heard someone say
I couldn’t believe it. No way!
The man woke up and saw another day
Do you believe in miracles? I do but then again I have witnessed them. Have you? Sending hugs from Brooklyn.
When I look into your eyes I get so lost
I need to be with you no matter the cost
I realize people would say I’ve lost my mind
But meeting you has left me in such a bind
You’re not mine and I realize that
But I’m drawn closer every time we chat
You touching my hand gives me such a feeling
I can’t help it but I am dealing
Why did you say hello to me that day in May?
Why did you have to hug me in such a provocative way?
I know it’s an impossibility and only a dream
But my body longs for you, I want to scream
I think it best if I avoid you right now
I must fight these urges! I must somehow!
I hope you enjoyed reading this blog post. Share, comment and like if you do. May you have a grand day. Hugs from Brooklyn.
Young Paul used to love scribbling on the wall. But his parents didn’t want him to do it at all. It still echoes in his ear “Stop messing up the wall! Stop it Paul!”
Paul grew up and he never learned to read or write. Perhaps out of spite. It pissed off his parents that he refused to learn. But how could he when being creative is all he yearned?
When he was one the wall was his paper. Now at 31 he was a mere gum scraper. Paul got married and had a son but his wife was soon killed by a gun.
Paul became depressed and easily angered. One day his 2 yr old son took a marker to the wall. Paul grabbed the belt yelling “Stop! You shouln’t have done that at all!”
He then remembered his writing on the wall, his parents and his life overall. His anger eased as he picked up his son. He couldn’t be like his parents, he would be fun.
He then took the magic marker and scribbled on the same wall. He stood up straight and in tears said “I can learn to write on this wall”. This is My wall and my name is Paul!
With love Guady G
It’s never too late to change one’s behavior and reactions. Our children have their own dreams. Let’s help them flourish and not hinder them. Thank you for reading.