Crutches

Don't know where this came from... just a little something I've been thinking about the past few days...

I am constructed of crutches.

I drink coffee; watch Grey’s Anatomy more then I should. I write on this blog, on Microsoft word documents on my laptop, in my paisley covered journal, in my notepad, on the back of physics worksheets.

These crutches hold me up. These are second rate crutches, but none the less I clutch at them, grasping the empty space.

My body turns against my mind daily.
My hands, they long to cradle the blind hope, the peace, the relief they had once cradled.
But now they cradle nothing, my gentleness has left.
My hands, they lost the ability to do simple things, to grasp, to release, to touch.
Even in sleep they remain twisted, curled, waiting.
You never know…
The hands were raised to the air, in hope or despair was not quite certain
These crutches are like a scalpel, like the numbing effects of alcohol, like a magnifying glass
 I am constructed of crutches.


I don't know anyone who isn't haunted by something or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet- our efforts usually fail. So the only way we can clear out the cobwebs is to turn a new page or put an old story to rest- finally, finally to rest