Migraine

I had one yesterday. I thought it was the beginning of a sinus infection--who knows, maybe it is.

It started slowly...the headache. Then built up to a blinding pain. I was chatting with Robert and suddenly I couldn't see the monitor clearly. So I gracefully said my goodbyes, logged offline, saved the project I had just finished and went home.

Mom and William were there. I told her I had a blinding headache. She asked if Dad was smoking in the studio. I told her yes.. he was and had been for a while. Cigarette after cigarette. She gave me the lecture that he deserved, but hey, its his life.

I tried to play with William for a while but the more I moved the more my head felt as if it were going to explode. I went to bed at 7 pm and slept until 8:15 this morning. I woke up clear as a bell, though tired. Probably from so much sleep.

My sinuses are draining and I've got a nasal drip but so far the headache's gone...though my forehead is sore to touch. I hope its gone--the headache.

But it did inspire this poem:

Life can be a migraine, twisting my heart, mind and soul in a vise.
Squeezing until I feel as if death would be heaven.
I can’t think. I can’t feel. I can barely breathe,
until you remind me that with a kiss that there is fresh air
and raspberry tea and other wonderful things.
I wonder sometimes how life would be without you.
With every crushing blow I receive, you heal me with a touch.
In every heartache I feel, you find a song that inspires doves.
When I am down so low, you lift me up so high
that I can touch fireworks and feel the burning of red—the cooling of blue.
I can’t imagine how black my life would be without your light.
You give me the belief that I can live in castles in the sky.

~ ~ ~

The fireworks line came from William--when he wanted me to lift him up to touch the explosion in the sky.

I'm finding that my poems are really for anyone or to anyone--they are pieces of my life around me. I touch things and a line for a poem or story flashes through my head. I try to quickly jot them down, so they don't get lost in the rush of life.

Am I truly a poet/writer now?