#MightyPoets

Though I will not be delving into this story in this post, at 4 months old, I was diagnosed with infantile-spasms. The prospect of any sense of normalcy looked grim; even a speech therapist insisted that I would never “walk, talk, or learn like a normal person.” (Doesn’t that statement absolutely reek of ableism?)

Anyways, my parents were not happy with the lack of faith of that speech therapist. Before I say anything else, I would like to mention that if I never did walk or talk, I would have still been able to learn, and my parents would not have loved me any less. It’s just that they weren’t happy with how quickly she gave up. But at 3 years old, I said my first word, “banana” (or, more accurately, “ba-buh-ba”). Upon hearing this story for the first time, I was fixated on finding a tangible symbol for overcoming doubt.

I still have epilepsy, but I can certainly walk and talk, and I love learning just about anything and everything. I’ve always wondered what my “symbol” would entail: maybe a banana: overcoming the doubt of others? The more I thought about this, the more I realized that this symbolizes the endurance of my parents. Or maybe it was a seahorse: the animal symbol for epilepsy, or the purple ribbon, the color for epilepsy.

Recently, I had an epiphany: this “tangible symbol” I have been looking for is within me. It is not something I can hold and glance at with marveling eyes, but instead, it is me telling my story. I don’t need something to hold as if it is proof of endurance; I just need to be grateful for my life, for where I am now, and to share my story, whether it is through poetry or through this platform- or anywhere else.

(Speaking of poetry, I was at a local event in October getting ready to read a poem about epilepsy, because who needs a comfort zone?)

#Epilepsy #Depression #Anxiety #InfantileSpasms #MightyPoets

Peaked by Melanie R.

I looked to the hills where great mountains stand.
For all of my help is from God’s righteous hand.
They reach to the heavens as they do declare,
the signs of His wonder,
His glory, and care.

The height of His Majest-
My Rock,
cornerstone.
Atop there with Him,
I’m sheltered…
I’m home.

The Rock that was thrown down;
rejected,
then rolled…
now holds me together,
shows mysteries unknown.

Mt. Tabor’s prominence,
Mt. Carmel stood tall,
proving there’s One God
that reigns over all.

In His holy mountain,
with Him by my side,
in hearing His word
growing faith-
I abide.

The gush of the water that came from the stone,
Rained living water;
restoring me whole.

Psalm 121:1-2
I lift my eyes to the hills. From where does my help comes from? My help comes from The Lord who made heaven and earth.

1 Corinthians 10:4
All drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ.

Isaiah 41:10
…I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Stay strong Mighty Warriors!
God bless and be with you all on your health journey!

If you enjoy my poems and inspiration please be sure to check out my YouTube channel:
Melanie’s Melody for more of God’s message in suffering.

#ChronicIllness #RareDisease #MitochondrialDisease #ChronicInflammatoryDemyelinatingPolyneuropathy #PosturalOrthostaticTachycardiaSyndrome #ChronicPain #RheumatoidArthritis #HypothyroidismUnderactiveThyroidDisease #InsideTheMighty #MightyPoets #MightyTogether #CheckInWithMe

#Depression #Addiction #Anxiety #Neurodiversity #Writing #MightyPoets

The rabbit catcher, by Sylvia Plath

It was a place of force—
The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair,
Tearing off my voice, and the sea
Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the dead
Unreeling in it, spreading like oil.

I tasted the malignity of the gorse,
Its black spikes,
The extreme unction of its yellow candle-flowers.
They had an efficiency, a great beauty,
And were extravagant, like torture.

There was only one place to get to.
Simmering, perfumed,
The paths narrowed into the hollow.
And the snares almost effaced themselves—
Zeros, shutting on nothing,

Set close, like birth pangs.
The absence of shrieks
Made a hole in the hot day, a vacancy.
The glassy light was a clear wall,
The thickets quiet.

I felt a still busyness, an intent.
I felt hands round a tea mug, dull, blunt,
Ringing the white china.
How they awaited him, those little deaths!
They waited like sweethearts. They excited him.

And we, too, had a relationship—
Tight wires between us,
Pegs too deep to uproot, and a mind like a ring
Sliding shut on some quick thing,
The constriction killing me also.

#NarcissisticPersonalityDisorder #Abuse #PTSD #Trauma #MightyPoets #Depression #Anxiety

The Earnest life of Rick by Melanie R.

A trumpet for The Lord
exhortations of joy.
His laboring to completion,
now stands with God‘s employ.

His soul searched while on earth,
walked through the desert land.
Each step sinking deeper…
…deeper in quick sand.
His life had twists and turns.
Struggling on his course.
No one would have expected
Rick working for The Lord.

He may have made decisions
only God could understand,
but it was there in this duress
Rick took His Mighty Hand.

He called out for the savior,
His trumpet rang out true
He changed the errors of his ways-
His spirit made anew.

Life’s work he was a builder,
painter,
skilled by trade,
But also worked in spirit,
God’s foundation that was laid.

Rick wasn’t on this earth long,
and his passing seems too soon,
We wish we had more time,
to say we were proud of you!
But I believe he knows,
as he is flying free,
and joined our other loved ones
who embraced eternity.

For in God’s righteous kingdom
the faithful will unite
the ones that were chosen,
to take this eagle’s flight.

Rick’s legacy lives on
through all he loved so dear;
and cycles through the memories
and the love through all the years.

In Abraham’s bosom,
in Jesus’ loving arms;
in perfect peace,
Rick passed his test,
didn’t need to see the scars.

But we all will miss him dearly
as God placed his soul at rest.
for it was by Rick’s life
that we were truly blessed.

#Grief #InsideTheMighty #MightyPoets

Bells by Melanie R.

Bells vibrate in their tolling;
the toll upon its frame.
Spirit sings,
the tone not muffled
by harsh suffering.

It swung to hit,
and deaden sound;
to take away its song.
Clapper’s ding-
piercing pitch,
would strike the headstock strong.

Though hung up in a belfry,
and yanked on by a rope.
The one that had no slack to give,
the one that had no hope.

The pulling down,
forced side to side…
Jolted,
worn down bell.

It didn’t crack,
stayed in rhythm-
swayed til it was still.

The bell’s yoke
heavy laden,
reverberate on rounds.
Called out to my savior,
He heard,
my spirit found!
Prepared 10,000 angels,
Golden bells of faithful noise,
the blowing of the shofar,
a shout of grateful poise.

Lord’s musical procession;
Instruments in hand.
Conducts His Holy orchestra…
Bell’s song will ring again.