dear me

dear me,
I’m in my eighth decade
an octogenarian, is how I’m deemed to the public
and stamped with all-too noticable marks of death –
melanoma ridden age spots and a brain
not knowing how to do simple tasks.

I do dislike the fog hovering,
yet imparting clarity when it’s appropriate
when my life depends on such knowledge,
like now.
this is why I write.
although frail and withered
from remedies man has made to conquer the evils dealt,
man’s homemade unnatural concoctions
have no place in my life, for
i can still climb mountains and dance a belly dance
in my mind
that hasn’t been altered,
yet the disease I was born with continues to rear the ugliness.
I perservere
and for reasons only
the core inside 
I live now, to connect
that core within’s motivations
to share, so that you may learn, or at least
nod your head, so I know you understand.
the wrenching of my gut, my umbilicle spirit
saved me from deceptive hands
cloaked and wiling to compress the air from my lungs
strength, forward, rejubenate, recompse, MEi knew that i had to depart from that life
to live to find the ME, that was lost, stolen, raped.
my umbilicle spirit
gave strength to move forward,
rejuvenate and recompose who I am.
my umbilicle spirit
turned inside-out, to reveal all that is important
so I could dismiss all that is not.
~dld november 10, 2010
dual writing challenges:
T10:  Words, Inc., Wednesday:
(1) fog, and (2) frail
The Muse Is In:  Prompt #86, Wise Elder

One response to “dear me

  1. Pingback: Never give up « One Question A Day

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