Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words… Words will cause fear, incite panic, fuel anger, spread divisiveness, and create a breeding ground for disease that consumes one’s own body. Guns may cause some to freeze, others to seek shelter, but words… Words cause us to hide inside ourselves where no one can find us. Words cause us to retreat from life, pull away from friends and family, take remote jobs, and turn off all external communications. Words cause us to become stranded within ourselves at the very time the world needs us the most.
Over the weekend, I passed the second anniversary of filling my body with this radioactive poison called chemotherapy. Three months and fifteen days of this “treatment” remain. Every morning, I have taken these four monstrous pills. Every day, they seek to save my life by ruining it. I am a recluse within my recovery.
The warning on the bottle requires gloves to be worn. The poison can be spread. I remain for all intents and purposes, radioactive. With time, my body has adapted to this condition. So now, as we contemplate a life without poison, we wonder how my body will respond. Will I return to my previous activities or will my body long for a return of the poison? So many people chose the poison this month.
With no children going to school this week, there was no reason for anyone to set an alarm. Pets, accustomed to a specific schedule, do not understand the concept of ‘sleeping in.’ I woke to find dog shit in front of my door, a clear message that I had failed to meet their most basic needs in a timely manner. A chorus arose from the cats demanding to be fed and given fresh water. Their communication skills are considered primitive by some, but yet, do they not ensure that they get what they want? I fold my arms in front of me and Solaris immediately fills them with his presence, quite sure that my intention was to stop typing and hold him. Hamilton also requests to join the cuddle, but his size exceeds my lap space.
The beginning of the holiday season beckons millions to leave their homes and spend time with loved ones. Perils await. Not all airports are welcoming. A denial of service on the part of some may result in the loss of service to others. Inhospitable weather still looms large for much of the nation. Getting where one wants to go may be easier than leaving. More than emotions may cause one to stay. Cheaters are not welcome, though there are always those who try. Travel makes us weary, uncooperative, and stubborn. Making sure one packs plenty of grace in their carry-on eases the pain.
While some plan for great revelry, there are many others who struggle with how to buy groceries for less than $100, and others who sit alone, unknown, thankful for a bowl of instant soup. Not everyone is welcome at the table. Not everyone who has a seat deserves it. Many seats are empty this year. Many chairs are filled with new faces. Food may not feel welcome for the one who has never seen such outlandish displays. Compassion is the appetizer to giving thanks.
Still, there are words that pursue us. We don’t need to hear the consonants to feel their sting. We know they exist on the lips of those who deny our humanity, who have labeled us ‘sinners,’ and dare to pray for our souls while selling their own. They hope that we’ll feel small, that we’ll hide away in some corner, or perhaps leave and pretend we are not all one people, one bond, one personhood.
“Bless your little pea-pickin’ heart,” is the response I choose to combat hatred this season. Words needn’t be combative. What comes out of your mouth is as important as what goes into your ears. We needn’t apologize for being, but neither should we be so quick to point out the inhumanity of others. Leave the faults of others to eat away at their own souls. Pass the rolls with fervor for bread does well at filling the mouths of those who should not speak. Justice is a desert that fills everyone’s plate equally.
Words dance merrily through my head wearing spiked high heels so that I feel every stomp of their jig. I fear the day that the words stop, that I no longer hear nor speak, that my eyes cease to see the pictures, for that is the day I can no longer tell you that I love you.
Or that I need more coffee.
This Sunday is Charles’ birthday. Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter CashApp: $ciletbetter
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words… Words will cause fear, incite panic, fuel anger, spread divisiveness, and create a breeding ground for disease that consumes one’s own body. Guns may cause some to freeze, others to seek shelter, but words… Words cause us to hide inside ourselves where no one can find us. Words cause us to retreat from life, pull away from friends and family, take remote jobs, and turn off all external communications. Words cause us to become stranded within ourselves at the very time the world needs us the most.
Over the weekend, I passed the second anniversary of filling my body with this radioactive poison called chemotherapy. Three months and fifteen days of this “treatment” remain. Every morning, I have taken these four monstrous pills. Every day, they seek to save my life by ruining it. I am a recluse within my recovery.
The warning on the bottle requires gloves to be worn. The poison can be spread. I remain for all intents and purposes, radioactive. With time, my body has adapted to this condition. So now, as we contemplate a life without poison, we wonder how my body will respond. Will I return to my previous activities or will my body long for a return of the poison? So many people chose the poison this month.
With no children going to school this week, there was no reason for anyone to set an alarm. Pets, accustomed to a specific schedule, do not understand the concept of ‘sleeping in.’ I woke to find dog shit in front of my door, a clear message that I had failed to meet their most basic needs in a timely manner. A chorus arose from the cats demanding to be fed and given fresh water. Their communication skills are considered primitive by some, but yet, do they not ensure that they get what they want? I fold my arms in front of me and Solaris immediately fills them with his presence, quite sure that my intention was to stop typing and hold him. Hamilton also requests to join the cuddle, but his size exceeds my lap space.
The beginning of the holiday season beckons millions to leave their homes and spend time with loved ones. Perils await. Not all airports are welcoming. A denial of service on the part of some may result in the loss of service to others. Inhospitable weather still looms large for much of the nation. Getting where one wants to go may be easier than leaving. More than emotions may cause one to stay. Cheaters are not welcome, though there are always those who try. Travel makes us weary, uncooperative, and stubborn. Making sure one packs plenty of grace in their carry-on eases the pain.
While some plan for great revelry, there are many others who struggle with how to buy groceries for less than $100, and others who sit alone, unknown, thankful for a bowl of instant soup. Not everyone is welcome at the table. Not everyone who has a seat deserves it. Many seats are empty this year. Many chairs are filled with new faces. Food may not feel welcome for the one who has never seen such outlandish displays. Compassion is the appetizer to giving thanks.
Still, there are words that pursue us. We don’t need to hear the consonants to feel their sting. We know they exist on the lips of those who deny our humanity, who have labeled us ‘sinners,’ and dare to pray for our souls while selling their own. They hope that we’ll feel small, that we’ll hide away in some corner, or perhaps leave and pretend we are not all one people, one bond, one personhood.
“Bless your little pea-pickin’ heart,” is the response I choose to combat hatred this season. Words needn’t be combative. What comes out of your mouth is as important as what goes into your ears. We needn’t apologize for being, but neither should we be so quick to point out the inhumanity of others. Leave the faults of others to eat away at their own souls. Pass the rolls with fervor for bread does well at filling the mouths of those who should not speak. Justice is a desert that fills everyone’s plate equally.
Words dance merrily through my head wearing spiked high heels so that I feel every stomp of their jig. I fear the day that the words stop, that I no longer hear nor speak, that my eyes cease to see the pictures, for that is the day I can no longer tell you that I love you.
Or that I need more coffee.
This Sunday is Charles’ birthday. Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter CashApp: $ciletbetter
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