This poem, though inspired by some disease that requires I become prostrate to the big grayish pallor of the gaping mouths of machines, represents otherwise the first of several metastatic nods to national poetry month. And, understandably very much inspired by my own internal struggles: doubts in the treatments, one that causes chemo brain, causes degradation of my body, causes me to want to seek out other therapies. … Read More PET Scans and Other Acronyms
On the precipice of my fifth year of living with, not dying from metastatic cancer, I regard my life as a lucky one. No crazed busses have hit me, no falling airplane debris bonked me on the head, no Acme holes swallowed me up (a la Wile E. Coyote trying to capture the turbocharged Road… Read More Metastatically “Normal”: new, used or unrealistic?
Learning to love myself and understanding on a deeper level what gratitude truly means came to me with a very high price tag. However, if my life and my legacy helps in any way my peers and those who will unfortunately be diagnosed after I’m long gone, then it’s a life well lived.… Read More Why Your Voice Saves Lives: Participation in Breast Cancer Research and Virtual Peer Groups
Expressing the greedy silence A picture’s worth of words Swallowed whole by memory’s avarice. Wishing wells charge five cents for Lies it disguises as your dreams and Sells for a penny a dozen accidents. Ascending into the ravenous night, Darkness craves sleepers who whisper Hungry with the first sun’s frowning light. Handmade gifts thoughtfully cost… Read More Buddy, can you spare word or two?