A Letter To My Kind Hair Stylist Who Eased My Anxiety

To My Kind Hair Stylist:

When I entered the salon you worked at I was filled with anxiety for no reason. It’s just something I deal with daily. My generalized anxiety has become much worse since I developed Lyme Disease. Regular daily chores and trips to the grocery store/hair salon/mall/restaurants fill me with anxiety. I wish I didn’t have to feel this way all of the time, but for now I do. I’m working hard to overcome it, but that could take many years.

And so I made myself walk into your salon. I desperately needed a nice haircut, and I took a deep calming breath and hoped for the best. The salon was beautiful, and had a nice relaxing atmosphere. The staff were all really nice and brought you out to meet me.

There was something about you that immediately put me at ease, and that is no small feat. You had a big smile on your face and a nice, tranquil demeanor.

You brought me to your chair and asked me a few questions about how I wanted my hair cut. I answered your questions quickly as I was still nervous. Then you proceeded to wash my hair. The scalp massage really helped me to relax. I felt okay as I walked back to your chair.

I had to immediately bring up a few health issues, as my Lyme Disease makes me more sensitive to chemicals, and I have to make sure there are no nut or shellfish containing products used due to me and my son’s food allergies.

You did not roll your eyes at all I told you. You kindly and sincerely answered all of my questions, and even checked and rechecked the product labels to make sure they were safe.

Even though you were very young, you had a certain patience and understanding about you that usually comes with age.

Whatever topic I brought up, you offered words of wisdom well beyond your years. You were sympathetic, perceptive, and very knowledgeable.

I was so grateful to be able to loosen up and be distracted enough to actually enjoy my haircut for the first time in years. You have no idea how much that means to me.

After talking to you for awhile you brought up the fact that you had recently donated your kidney to a boy you had been dating for only a year. Then it all made sense.

You aren’t just a thoughtful young woman. You aren’t just a patient woman. You are an Angel on Earth.

You had actually saved someone’s life, and I was grateful to be in your peaceful presence.

You gave off an air of acknowledgement, because you’ve already been through so much.

You were able to put me at ease, because you understood struggle.

You were able to show much kindness, because you know exactly what it means to walk a tough road.

You were also able to give me the best haircut I’ve had in years, even though you are just beginning your career.

When my haircut was through, you gave me a big hug. Not a forced one, a real genuine hug from your heart. That had never happened before in my 40 plus years of getting haircuts.

It was very sweet, and special, just like you are.

I believe deeply in thanking people who have shown me or my family kindness. I believe in thanking people who make my day, or go out of their way to help others.

Thank you for putting me at ease and making an ordinary trip to the salon an extraordinary one.

You are very good at your job and I wish you all the success in the world.

I also wish good health to you and your boyfriend. I hope the special bond that exists between the two of you lasts forever.

I will be back for more haircuts and will refer my friends and family too.

I have never thought of writing a letter/blog to thank a hair stylist before. That’s because I never met one like you.

I am altering the words of Sir Elton John to say:

My gift is my blog, and this one’s for you….

 

 

 

 

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The Race

I have moved slowly my whole life. I have been called a turtle and an Ent among many other things. I have never felt the need to rush, and my lifelong anxiety prevents me from acting quickly even when I try.

I was always one of the slowest runners at school, and the slowest walker on the crowded streets of New York City where I grew up. I cook slowly, I eat slowly, and I get ready slowly. I think slowly, and right now I am typing this blog slowly.

It has always taken me longer than others to get most things done. I was glad when I met my husband that this didn’t seem to bother him. My turtle pace was just fine with him.

When we had kids it was hard for me to keep up with hungry babies, fast moving toddlers, and now busy young children. I adapted and kept up the best I could.

Then I was bit by a tiny tick and developed Lyme Disease. Added on to my already full plate of Anxiety, Interstitial Cystitis, Fibromyalgia, Pre-Menstrual Dysmorphic Disorder, Endometriosis, Vulvodynia, and slow-moving turtle syndrome, I felt completely overwhelmed. It felt like I was caught up in a never ending cycle of Chronic Illness.

How would I get anything done now? How would I get through this?

Slowly. One day at a time.

Lyme Disease completely took over my body and brain for awhile. I have improved about fifty percent over the last 3 years thanks to my doctors and antibiotics, but my brain is still affected, and it is difficult to remember certain things.

There is no cure for Chronic Lyme Disease, and so I continue to fight, and move even more slowly. The waves of Lyme haze run through my brain, and I still struggle to be set free.

There were many days when the guilt of not being enough, and not doing enough for my family was crushing. There were many days when I didn’t have the strength to cook or even take a shower, let alone play with my children.

This guilt followed me around like a shadow on the ground, the writing on the wall. Until I decided to stomp all over it, and to write a new story.

In this story, it is okay to be a sick, extremely slow-moving turtle. I still have worth, I still am able to give and receive love. I strengthened my shell, I developed new goals. I have a new outlook on life.

I decided to feel beautiful inside and out, even though I looked disheveled on most days. I decided to tell my family that I love them at least twice a day. I decided that it was okay to plan one fun thing a week for my kids to look forward to, for me to look forward to. I decided to try hard to brighten other people’s days, or to help others more when I am able to, through my writing and other avenues. I decided that was enough, I was enough.

Though I can’t do as much as I used to since my turtle power is low, I have learned to cherish all that I can do.

All of us move at different speeds. All of us are facing many difficult trials and tribulations. All of us are part of the human race.

We don’t have to win it, we just have to consciously and compassionately be in it.

 

 

You Were Supposed to Be an Abortion

“You were supposed to be an abortion,” was one of the last things my father ever said to me. It was during Thanksgiving 2004 that he uttered these words to me, and to all sitting at the holiday table. I was shocked, embarrassed and hurt, but not surprised.

I have felt unwanted and unloved my whole life. Like an uninvited guest burdening an ongoing dinner party. A dinner party with not enough food, joy or warmth. I was just one more mouth to feed, one more diaper to change, one more screaming child in a house on the verge of destruction.

I know my mom did not want this, but it was an easy way out for my dad who was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. He was a cop who walked the beat in NYC, he was a man who often beat his children when he was off duty. He loved a can of Budweiser more then he loved his own kids.

He suffered from mental illness but refused to get help. He spun out of control and we were all caught in his web. Sometimes he was an itsy bitsy amount of fun, most times he was as terrifying as Shelob the giant spider from Lord of the Rings. He was a spinner of lies and broken dreams, he was a predator to our happiness.

He called me Foe as a joke from Jack and the Beanstalk’s Fee Fi Fo Fum, but he was actually my foe. He was never truly in my corner, he never protected me, he never told me that he loved me. He even held a loaded gun to my head and asked me if I wanted to die first, on one dark night.

I like so many others was born into a home without love. The love had died, just as surely as my dad wanted me to. I was just a reminder of this fact, an exclamation mark to an unhappy marriage and life. When I was able to understand this, I suffered my first broken heart.

I have been trying to mend my broken heart ever since. I have not fully succeeded, and will spend the rest of my life trying. My past has led me to making many bad decisions, and to at least one unhealthy relationship.

It wasn’t until I matured and took the time to understand myself and my needs that I began to make better decisions. I learned to love the person that I thought was unlovable. I began to slowly heal. I learned to look at life through a new lens, I finally saw a path toward happiness.

There were many bumps in the road of course, and many wrong turns, but I managed to learn from my mistakes and get right back on the road. I steered clear of abusive personalities, and slowly found myself surrounded by kind, supportive people. People who understood pain, physical and/or mental, people who truly care about others.

This took awhile and was not easy, but was very worthwhile. It is much better to be alone than to be with people who constantly hurt you. It is much better to wait for good things, than to rush into bad situations. It is much better to take the time to truly love yourself. You are amazing. You are a gift.

I had waited my whole life for someone to tell me that they loved me and really mean it. What I didn’t realize was that I needed to hear it from myself the most. When I was finally able to look in the mirror with pride and feel self-love, my life changed course.

I met a wonderful man and have two wonderful children. I try to tell them that I love them often, for I know what it feels like to crave these words. I try to show them how much I love them often, for I know what it feels like to be neglected. I try to hug and kiss them often, in the hopes that it will protect them from an unkind world. I try to show them kindness, so that they will show the same kindness to others.

I only saw my father once after that Thanksgiving. It was on his deathbed. There were no apologies offered, no warmth shown, no love for my unborn daughter that grew in my big belly, no I love yous, no big movie screen goodbyes.

I just leaned over him for the last time and kissed his forehead. I said a quick prayer for him to finally find peace and happiness.

I no longer needed him. I never really did. I walked out of that hospital room with all I ever really needed.

Myself, some self-love, and a whole lotta love to spare.

Why The Series Finale Of My Daughter’s Favorite Show is So Upsetting

The series finale of my daughter’s favorite show “Austin and Ally” is Sunday, January 10th. I keep hearing the announcement as we have the Disney channel on most of the day. Each time I hear the commercial, I get a little verklempt.

I’ve been trying to figure out why.

Why am I so upset that this show is ending? I mean it’s not exactly Game of Thrones where I sit on the edge of my seat, and freak out waiting a whole week for the next episode. I go through seven hells while I await a new season. That is certainly not the case with Austin and Ally.

But, it is a special show that I share with my daughter. It is a way for us to bond and to spend time together. Just like we did with iCarly and Good Luck Charlie.

It is marking the rapid passage of time. It has been on for four years. Years filled with happiness, tears, and love. My daughter was 6 when the show started, and is now 10 and getting ready to graduate elementary school.

Where has the time gone?

I feel like a chapter has ended, and a new one is beginning.

I’m not sure I’m ready for it to end yet.

I can remember watching the Wiggles with her as a baby and toddler.  I can still envision finding her face frozen in fear as she watched a creepy Wiggles puppet video, and the pure joy on her face as Murray shouted out her name that was written on a sign for their concert.

I will always hold those memories dear, and I will look forward to creating new ones.

But for now I will hope this week goes by slowly. I will take more time to gaze at my daughter so I can remember how she is exactly at this moment in time. I will take a few more minutes to talk to her, to hug her, to show her how much I love her.

I will take time to deal with the realization that she is not a baby anymore, she is not yet a teen. She is in an in between stage. A stage where she is not as easy to please. A stage where her iPad is more exciting than me. A stage I must get used to, and learn to enjoy.

She is growing up, and I must grow with her as a mom.

I must face the facts that though these four years have gone by so swiftly, there are many wonderful years ahead.

I will sit with her next Sunday, and enjoy the moment. Images of my own childhood will flash by, like when I watched the last episode of Little House on the Prairie, or MASH.

Time stopped back then for these events.  Everyone was watching those shows at the same time. Everyone talked about them the next day. They were big moments in history.

Times have changed and media has changed. There are still big moments, but they are different, and they are fleeting.

The Austin and Ally series finale may not make history, but it will forever be a part of me. It will forever be a special memory that I shared with my daughter.

I’m sure that we will shed a few tears when it’s over. I’m sure that we will want a quick hug.

What I’m not sure of is what the future holds.

What will the next chapter in our lives be like?

I’m so thankful to my daughter for all the wiggles, random dances and belly swirls. I’ve enjoyed every single one.

I can’t wait to see what’s next, and as I prepare for it, I hope she knows that she’s one in a million, and that I’ve always got her back.

Kathy ❤

Poetologie

 

 

 

When Sorry is not Enough: An Open Letter to All Parents of Children Lost to Gun Violence

To All Parents Who Have Lost Children to Gun Violence:

I will no longer say I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, because sorry is not enough.  Sorry won’t make you feel any better. Sorry won’t dry your tears.  Sorry won’t bring back your beautiful children.

I was sorry on 12/14/12, the day of the Newtown tragedy.  I have been sorry every since.  But not much has changed, in fact the incidents of mass shootings are getting more frequent.

I was so sorry that I started a facebook page called Twenty Six Seeds of Love for Newtown on 12/19/12.  I have been saying sorry to those in Newtown ever since.  And though I know that many of the residents of Newtown follow my page and appreciate what I’m trying to do, it just isn’t enough.

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Sorry is just a way of trying to make myself feel better.  It is a kind thing to say I guess, but it doesn’t change anything.

It doesn’t change what happened in San Bernardino, it doesn’t change what happened in Roseburg, Aurora, Virginia Tech, or what happens every single day in our country.

It doesn’t change what just happened in Orlando. Forty-nine innocent people slaughtered once again. The worst mass shooting in US history. Innocent victims of our cowardice, inaction and apathy.

I AM sorry that we have failed you.  As a country, as a people, as human beings.

We refuse to see your horrible tragedies for what they are.  An inexcusable, preventable injustice.  A horrible loss that NONE of us would like to face.

You are living a parents worst nightmare.  You have joined a club NONE of us want to be in.  You shouldn’t have to stand alone.

While many of us get over the horror of these tragedies and move on with our lives, you can never truly move on.

You must deal with the loss of your loved ones on a daily basis.  You are serving a sentence, and you never committed a crime.

I can no longer carelessly leave the TV on while my young children are home, for fear they will hear of the next school shooting or mass shooting.

I can no longer feel content after I drop them off at school, the movies, or the mall.

For your losses are ALWAYS at the back of my mind.

I no longer care about there being two sides to the gun issue.

We should ALL be on the side of humanity.

We should focus on there being one side only- the side of less death from gun violence.

I care about you and the pain you are going through.

I don’t want to see another parent go through that pain.

I want to see the killing stop.

I want to see the streets filled with laughing children, not blood.

And every single one of us should want the same thing.

And every single one of us should do whatever it takes to protect the children, and all of us, from the next shooting.

Whatever it takes.

The time is now to stop the division, and to put the lives of others first.

After all, we are all human.

ALL of us care about our children.

So I will not say sorry for the thousandth time.

I will say I wish you ANY peace you can eventually find.

I will say if there is ANYTHING I can do to help you, I will.

I will say that I wish that all of us will now have the courage and determination to put an end to this misery.

For sorry is just not enough…..

Love Kathy ❤

Poetologie

Twenty Six Seeds of Love for Newtown

26 seeds garden me

The Storms of Life Spare No One – Let’s All Help Each Other Through

I was just reading a news story about finding an appropriate way to posthumously honor former DC Mayor Marion Barry.  I knew that he was a deeply flawed political figure, known as the “Mayor for life,” but I was still saddened after reading all of the negative comments about him. I felt the urgent need to post a positive comment about him, though he was never my Mayor. 

After reading more about him, I understood more about where he came from, his poverty stricken childhood, and about what may have led to his drug use and some of his bad choices.  I also read about how he was a well educated man, and a civil rights leader, becoming the first such leader to become Mayor of such a major city in America.  I read about his legacy and accomplishments, which most of us will never attain.

I was deeply moved by two of his quotes where he described having to drink at a separate water fountain as a child due to segregation, and about how he was just trying to get through “the storms of life.”

The storms of life definitely do not spare anyone, I know that just as well as anyone.  That is why I am always so shocked and upset after I read callous online comments.  When did it become okay for us to tear each other apart from the comfort of our own homes?   When did it become okay for us to become inhumane couch critics?

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I don’t know when I read my first cruel online comment, but I do know that I have stopped reading most of them.  I do know that I am only human, and have been tempted by the apple of anger to post one myself, especially to defend those unable to defend themselves, but I stop myself from commenting most of the time.

This is because it is the never-ending story of hate, lies, anger, discriminatory remarks, and fear.  Once in awhile you may read a brilliant, hilarious, or heart-warming comment that sucks you back into the whole rigmarole, but a large percentage of it seems to be negative. (There are a few exceptions to this such as; a positive support group, a page to help cure diseases, etc)

Oh that Caitlyn Jenner is no hero, or that President Obama is the cause of all the evil in the world, or that Chris Christie eats too many Jersey subs.  It never ends…

I just came by to see

But all of these people are human.  They are living their lives, and doing their best to survive the storms of life.  I may not agree with every opinion, or post I see, but I’m trying hard to become a member of Online Commenter’s Anonymous.*  I’m trying hard to read the articles & not the comments.  To see the real story, the big picture, the fragility of the human race.

That fragility is what makes us human.  That ability to make mistakes, and learn and grow from them makes us who we are,  We have all suffered, we have all experienced failure and regret, and all of us must learn to exercise a little more compassion, and A LOT less judgment.

I’m also trying to read more positive, uplifting pieces, blog posts, etc.  These stories remind us that no one is immune to tragedy, heartache or pain.  We are all facing something.  We have all walked through fire.  We must all help each other through.

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I keep up with the news because I know how important it is.  I keep up with politics because I know how much it affects my life.  But I will not keep up with reading online comments, unless it’s about fluffy bunny rabbits…..everybody loves fluffy bunny rabbits….oh, except for user4hate who just commented “not the fat ones.”

Mandy cute close up

  • my blog gives me special commenting privileges, and a respite from regular online commenting on other’s posts 😉

Kathy ❤

Poetologie

Nuts About My Son

Twenty Six Seeds of Love for Newtown

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

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Today is Mick Jagger’s birthday. July 26th. A day I always remember since I grew up loving & idolizing him. I fell in love with his music at a very early age, since my sister was always playing her Stones albums.

I recognized the power and poetry of some of their lyrics, as I was discovering my own voice and ability to write poetry. I thought about him as I walked through Central Park.

pburgh defried hall all of us

Mick was my imaginary high school boyfriend, since I was too shy & troubled to have my own. He shared in my college experience as his music was always playing on my cassette recorder, and as I realized my dream of seeing him in concert for the first time in 1989, while I was a sophomore.

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His music played while I had the joy of giving birth to my daughter, and helped as tears went by through many miscarriages. He helped me navigate through a world that seemed to be painted black.

r & ryan walking sc

After my 19th nervous breakdown, I was able to give birth to a son, and we moved to sweet Virginia.

We seemed to be getting what we wanted. A nice family & place to live. Walks in the park, summer vacations, and nice visits from Grandma & Grandpa.

Then one year ago today, July 26th, we lost Grandpa to pancreatic cancer.

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This date now takes on a different meaning. It is a sad reminder of the joy & fragility of life.

We are saddened that we didn’t get more time with Grandpa & that he couldn’t watch his grandchildren grow up.

We are out of time, but we are not out of love.

mick bw vintage harpers bazaar cover

And as I sit here playing my Stones songs today, I will think of Mick, and I will think of Grandpa.

And I will remember that though you can’t always get what you want, if you try sometimes, you can still get & spread all the love that you need…………..

RIP Grandpa. We love & Miss you

Kathy ❤

Poetologie

Chasing Butterflies

memorial peace sign design no cp

Chasing Butterflies

I’ve been thinking a lot about butterflies these past 31 months. I have written about them, cared for them, wrote poems about them, created many memes of them, and created a pretty butterfly memorial garden at my daughter’s school in honor of the 26 Angels of Newtown.

Ever since Dylan’s mom, Nicole Hockley, referred to him as her “beautiful butterfly, and then said the following: “there’s a saying that if a butterfly flaps his wings in one place it can cause a hurricane halfway around the world. And I said that Dylan and all the others that died that day were now our butterflies and that they were going to drive change across the country, if not the world,” they have become a part of my vernacular, and a part of my heart.

Butterflies are believed to be the embodiment of a person’s soul. They are also seen as a symbol of rebirth and transformation.

And as I sit here remembering the events of July 20th, 2012, my mind is once again brought back to butterflies.

I was once again reading about the 12 victims of the tragedy, and thinking about them & their families, when I came across an article in the Denver Post.

There were two survivors of the Aurora tragedy who have to live with painful reminders of what happened every day. Ashley Moser, who lost her 6 year old daughter, Veronica, as well as her unborn child, is now a quadriplegic.

Another one of the survivors, Caleb Medley, who was an aspiring comic before the tragedy, suffered serious brain damage and an eye injury, and underwent three brain surgeries. He requires a feeding tube, has severely impaired movement, and can no longer speak.

He is continuing to improve through his physical therapy, but he & his wife, Katie, are unsure of what the future holds.

This 2014 article in the Denver Post, briefly describes their journey, and speaks about her recent tattoo:

“A butterfly tattoo dominates the inside of Katie’s right forearm, a piece of body art she had done about a year ago, after the first anniversary of the theater shooting.

Within the butterfly is the Batman logo and the date of the tragedy: July 2012.

When she approached the artist, her idea was just to have him create a small butterfly and leave it at that. But he seemed to grasp what she was looking to say, made a few suggestions and then did the whole thing freehand.

Now, she’s thinking of getting another tattoo, perhaps a replica of Officer Grizzle’s badge, in recognition for his part in saving her husband’s life.

But for now, the butterfly serves as a simple statement — a symbol for all that transpired, including details on which the family remains silent pending the outcome of the criminal case.

“For me,” Katie says, “it means new life, newness out of the Batman symbol of what happened to us. The butterfly is supposed to be new, starting over.”

After reading this article I will also think of Caleb and his wife whenever I see a butterfly. I will hope and pray for his progress, and for his happiness. I will hope that his family thrives.

I will also think of all of the victims of Aurora, Newtown, Columbine, Tucson, and Virginia Tech. I will think of the survivors of these tragedies, their families and friends, and I will send a silent wish to them as they continue their transformation to a life they never imagined, nor did they deserve.

I sit back and think of the many butterflies that I have seen in my life. As a child I gravitated toward them as they enjoyed my mom’s rose bushes. I ran, fluttered, hopped and skipped after them, as I hoped they would lead me toward peaceful dreams.

I’m still chasing after them, and I’m still hoping they will lead us all in the direction of love, happiness, and peace……………………♥♥♥

Kathy
Poetologie
Nuts About My Son

Twenty Six Seeds of Love for Newtown

*the names on this memorial peace sign represent the victims of the following tragedies:

blue- Aurora
green- Newtown
purple- Virginia Tech
dark purple- Columbine
red- Tucson

may they all forever rest in peace…..

Countrysongnia and the New Year (from Dec. 2014)

guitar song meme

I have been experiencing some trouble sleeping the past few weeks. A few days ago I experienced a certain type, in which I inexplicably am able to write country songs while suffering from insomnia.

This has happened to me once before and I wrote a song called “Memory Lane.”

The funny thing about this is that I grew up in NYC and have no ties to the country. I have mostly listened to Classic Rock my whole life & rarely listen to country music, though I do like it.

I am more much more hippie than country. Maybe moving to VA is having a tiny effect on me?

I am not excited about getting insomnia again, but I am excited about my weird, unexpected new hidden talent.

I will enjoy it, and I will enjoy expressing my emotions in a new way.

I hope all of you enjoy the year’s end & the upcoming year. I hope you discover great hidden talents, and wonderful treasures.

But, I hope most of all, that you find lots of love, happiness, health & peace in 2015.

Here is my new “countrysongnia” song entitled “The Guitar”

The Guitar

I walked along the streets of the Village
cold, hungry, and feeling alone
I spent my last dollar on you
I wanted to become a rolling stone

I bought my precious guitar
some extra strings and some picks
I carried you on my back
hoping my life you’d manage to fix

you were the first step toward freedom
and mending what life had torn apart
you gave me strength and love
and helped heal a broken heart

………………………………………………

Refrain:

thank you for being a symbol of
what it means to be free
I don’t know what I’d do
without my guitar, kayak and poetry
…………………………………………

I spent many years carrying you,
while I travelled around,
tried many jobs and men,
til’ I put my feet back on the ground

and though I never learned
to play your acoustic strings
I’m grateful I have you
and the message that you bring

Repeat Refrain

I have written many poems
and kayaked many waters
and one day I’ll pass you down
to my dear, loving daughter

and I will tell her this tale
of broken hearts and broken strings
and of how she must believe in herself
and how kindness trumps fancy things

Repeat Refrain

But for now I see
that you are gathering some dust
I will try to live once more
and not be in such a rush

I will learn to play my guitar
as life doles out the chords
I will love and live life well
and at the end hear the applause….

Kathy ❤

Poetologie

Nuts About My Son

Twenty Six Seeds of Love for Newtown

© KS 2014

The Song Without a Name

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I must have lived a past life as a country songwriter.

This is the 3rd country song I’ve written.

It is so funny, because I’m mostly a classic rock fan & part-time poet, but these songs keep coming to me out of nowhere & I can totally picture the song & tune.

I believe this one came to me because of all the Tim McGraw pics I’m seeing from the Concert for Sandy Hook Promise, and the love I’m feeling through them………….♥♥♥

The Song Without a Name

I can’t be a writer,
until I do a little living;
I can’t be a saint,
until I’ve done a little sinning.

I can’t be a giver,
until I’ve felt what it’s like to need;
I can’t be generous,
until I learn to control my greed.

I can’t help those who suffer,
until I see we are all the same;
I can’t learn to love you,
until I learn to be humane.

I can’t truly be happy,
until I learn to love myself;
I can’t spread this happiness,
until I love someone else.

I can’t get stronger,
until I continue to walk my path;
I can’t learn to really live,
until I learn that it won’t last.

I can’t accept my fate,
until I care about yours;
I can’t be part of humanity,
until I stop shutting the door.

I can’t be part of the world,
until I care about who’s in it;
I can’t learn to love war,
because no one really wins it.

I can’t try to change my world,
until I try to change myself;
I can’t live in harmony,
until I stop blaming someone else.

I can’t truly end this song,
until I say to you;
just do your best, and love each other,
and in the end we’ll all pull through.

I can’t really find a title,
so this is the song without a name;
I can’t be ready to leave this Earth,
until I leave it better than when I came….

Kathy
Poetologie
Nuts About My Son
Twenty Six Seeds of Love for Newtown

copyright 2015