Poems
Our Herd submits poems that help them get through the day when fighting cancer. Some are inspiring while others are just to express how they are feeling.
Want to submit a post? Click Here.
Deciduous: A Poem for Processing Chemo Hair Loss
This year, I get to be deciduous.
Drop my cells to the floor, prep the soil for this post-traumatic growth that I’m sowing.
Read More...I am Not A Soldier
You call me warrior, but I do not receive that title
I am a survivor, I am a mother, I am a friend
I am not a soldier
Storm of Words
Woody Guthrie cried out
into the rising dust,
singing,
“I’ve heard a storm
of words in me” ––
A storm of words…
Prayers
Prayers work wonders
Yet sometimes
They also make you wonder
Why sometimes
They are just not heard
I Left Her Behind
I left her behind.
It wasn’t my decision.
I miss her.
Not one day goes by that I don’t think of her.
I close my eyes and she’s there.
I think she’s imperfectly beautiful.
Easy on my eyes, if only in my eyes.
My Life. The Comet.
Before cancer, writing wasn’t something I enjoyed. It was a chore. Something I did at work or for school. Much like all things I dislike, I avoided it. Then, when I was at my lowest point, writing found me. Pushed me to pick it up, toss my feelings out, and move ahead. Finding community during treatment was intimidating for me.
Read More...A Toast to My Twenties
a toast to my twenties
at twenty years young, my friends piled into my car until every seat and lap were occupied and we drove until the odometer hit 100,000 miles in virginville, pennsylvania.
twenty-one was spent bar hoping with my uncle until the night ended with my head in my grandparent’s kitchen sink.
twenty-two was the year i graduated, moved, started over, and fell in love.
Read More...The Show Must Go On & other poems
it’s easier to be written out of the storyline
that’s why my character always dies
and if they survive, it always comes back
again and again until the sickness wins
because healing is messy, hard, and
never a straight line
Bird Mobiles
Fuchsia, yellow, turquoise and purple; sad birds on tired wires spin above me in a desperate ballet
Their soft feathery texture, here to warmly greet me in contrast to the cold hard table where I lay
A presence meant to calm and soothe, forget the void of living without the sound of children’s laughter
Read More...Consent & Good Bones
what does consent mean
if you aren’t saying yes for yourself
if every incision, stitch, vile of blood
is done because i am too scared to say no
