Feeling So Deeply It Hurts

“To truly laugh, you must be able to take your pain, and play with it!”
~ Charlie Chaplin

I can’t count how many times people have said to me a version of, “You don’t look like you are sick or in pain. You’re always smiling and happy.” This kind of talk makes me wonder if these individuals don’t know that pain and sadness aren’t mutually exclusive. Yes, when the world makes me sad, everything hurts more. But the opposite is also true: smiles, laughter, a generous amount of cackling witchy style (CWS) and pure happiness decrease my pain.

On day 4 of NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero 2015, I wish you to write a poem that shows how an emotion might increase physical pain, and vice versa.

Instructions

* Leave a link to your poem, as a comment. Include the title of your entry, and the direct link of your post. Example: “NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero”: http://magalyguerrero.com/napowrimo-with-magaly-guerrero-2015/. Visit other Wicked Darlings and comment on their yum. They might visit you in return (it’s politeness spiced up with fun).

* If you use this prompt, please link it to your post. And if you are feeling extra delicious, link your poem to the main entry. Show others where to go. Spread the word. Linking back to the source brings smiles to the faces of baby koalas. Seriously.

Feeling So Deeply It Hurts

This made me laugh like a lunatic. So, of course, I had to share it.
via

Pruning Unseen Giants

Armor weaved out of sundried palm leaves, her Quixote was perfect for my straightjacketed Dulcinea. With red thread, I stitched a white habit out of an armful of my baby brother’s best cloth diapers. The costume was tight around my ankles. I moved an inch and something ripped—my mother is going to wring my neck.

The red stitches caused a riot: Mother Superior blamed my “wilds” on pliable rulers. But Sister Virtudes de la Piedad said that plastic had similar howl-birthing powers.

I was punished in plastic. I didn’t howl or ask for redemption, but said to Mother and Sister that they were unfair and braindead. Quixote was told never to speak to me again. I thought she would fight for us. But her eyes were heavy with the shame she was told I should have felt… And she ran away to befriend giant-thought-sucking windmills.

armed in power red
Panza’s bare feet kiss the soil
prune unseen giants

Note: one of my best friends says that “pain is a betrayer”. I agree with her. Pain attacks from within, and it makes the whole thing feel as if it is your fault. It leaves the mind and body hurt and confused, asking: Why are you doing this? What do you want for me?

***
NaPoWriMo with Magaly Guerrero, Day 2 – Creativity and Pain: “This poem should explore creativity as a healing salve, as a shield, as a weapon, or as a negotiation method to use when dealing with physical and/or psychological pain.”

linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Mama Zen said, “Today, I want you to tell us about the house that built you. It doesn’t have to be an actual house; it can be a school house, a house of worship, a tree-house…. any place from your younger years that has special meaning to you now.” My house is bright red.

Tilting at Windmills, by Galen ValleTilting at Windmills ©2015 Galen Valle