*By day I'm a surgery nurse working for a large, Trauma Level I City Hospital. I see more than I want to at work and my outlet has always been through ink. Ink and words are my catharic means of escaping the daily tragedies I encounter [smile].
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Perhaps one of the only things I do know how to do well, is express:
I'm happy, I write.
I'm horny, I write.
I'm excited, I write.
I'm pissed, I write.
I love, I write.
I'm frustrated, I write.
I'm inspired, I write.
I grieve, I write through tears and smeared ink-
And on the rare occasion, I'm hurt (not*often) I'm blank, without spoken
or written words- crippled by inescapable emotion; paralysed by feelings
I'm unable to express.......
I do not journal. I've tried and I bore myself to tears because it's all about
me. And if you know me, you know- it's never about me. It's always
about others. It's just who I am. A mirror. A reflection looking back
towards you.
In the end, when my body falls, when dust stirs, when the stars welcome
me as one of their own, when breath ceases, and normal sinus rhythm
exempts me of its grid, that's when you'll see: I am only illusory. Here to
teach you something, to help you along your way, maybe even to help
you find your way in this always beautiful, often tragic, lovingly chaotic
ordeal we call life.
I ask for nothing. I expect nothing. I take nothing.
I am bourne of the wild. I have no rules. People, words, emotions,
bleeding, dying, living, loving, hurting: these things do not intimidate me.
But love me back, even for one moment--- tell me---whisssper it to me-
doesn't matter if it's true, or a lie-- and then, you have made me a slave to your own being.
I love, but I do not know what it is to be loved in return. That alone
indicts me as one with the wild......
sydnie.mischel
sydni's Genres: Non-fiction & Poetry
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