Prose Poetry – Pain
The pain woke me far too early. 4:00 a.m. maybe. Tears welled up; not because of the pain, but for what the pain meant. Struggling, I finally slip out of bed; pushing past pain. The wheelchair in the corner with outstretched arms waiting for me to accept his embrace. “Not today,” I said. “Perhaps tomorrow; for I have too much to do today.”
I cried again in the shower - because I was alone. Showers are perfect places to sob and so I did. I took my time selecting my clothes, styling my hair and applying my make-up. It was important for me to feel pretty and pretend that everything was okay.
Weak and shaky, I will make it through today; on my own; like I have been doing all along.
As I walked out the front door I turned to the corner and said: "Mr. Blue, my wheelchair; you will just have to wait, I’m not ready. Ask me tomorrow." I can almost guarantee I won't give in to the pain or that beautiful blue wheelchair.
About the Creator
Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales
I love to write. I have a deep love for words and language; a budding philologist (a late bloomer according to my father). I have been fascinated with the construction of sentences and how meaning is derived from the order of words.
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Wondrous works, that I see, the vast frame of the heaven and the earth, the order of all things, night and day, summer and winter, spring and autumn, the daily providing for this great household upon the earth, the preserving and directing of all to its proper end. - Anne Bradstreet
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 years ago in Poets
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