You Can’t Have My Love

No. You can’t have my friendship back.
You betrayed me. Concern you lacked.
You brought me pain and smiled in pleasure.
My worst nightmare was your to treasure.
You hurt me so bad, I cried.
My friendship with the world died.
You can’t come back and pretend it’s OK.
You never even apologized for hurting me, in any way.
At one time, you never thought you hurt me,
And still didn’t understand why when you heard me.
You just came crying about your life in despair.
I guess you thought I would actually care.
But when you choose our friendship last,
You made it a permanent part of our past.
Friends who saw me through my pain with support
Need my love and concern. They deserve so much more.
So no, I won’t exclude them, or make you the only one.
If you wanted my friendship, you shouldn’t have done what you’ve done.
Progressed by pain, I’ve grown through the ache.
To let you back in, would be my only mistake.

7-3-1993 Saturday
Written by Gail Brookshire

What Happens With Men

Woe, woe, oh to the slow.
Watch the water, but let him go.
He’s a beginning, a way to be all.
But he’s got to wait for the final call.
Hold up a hand, help him inside.
There’s nothing left, no one to hide.
What?! When?! Where do I run?
There’s nothing there, but the damage is done.
You could be wrong. You could be right.
You could be a rebellious fight.
Someone help – my baby’s falling.
I came to him – his final calling.
He came to the end. He came to the place.
I could show you his mark, but I forgot his face.

6-29-1993
Written by Gail Brookshire

A Plea to Live

Stop! Watch! Turn on the light.
It’s got to be so fun.
No – please – Don’t leave me!
I’ll be the only one.

Someone locked me in here years ago,
And left me here to cry.
I’ve tried to scream for help,
But people just walk on by.

‘You could at least leave some air,
I’ve been dying to have a breath.
Lying in this box so long
Is going to cause my death.

I want to play a little game
And live a little life.
But no one lets me out of here,
So I lose again to the knife.

They cramp my every aching muscle,
And suffocate my dreams.
I wish there were a way to escape,
But the thread has ripped its seams.

6-14-1993 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire

Drowning In My Struggle

I’m exhausted. I’m trapped,
And I don’t want to be here.
Can you help me out? – No?
Oh darn! I was so hoping
You could and would.
I’m really worn out.
I need the break
That I’m not going to get.
Life will take me down
And I will be the victim,
And lost.
What is it going to take
To ask you to help me?
To rescue me from my drowning?
I know I’m able to swim on my own,
But life is cramping my strength.
I just need a little help.
Please be my lifesaver.

5-3-1993 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire

Out of Character

My life is going so fast,
And my pace is going so slow.
School is suppose to be my educator,
But little do they know.
They crowd my sense of identity,
And take away my-self.
They ask me to be a part of class,
But are offended by any help.
They ask me to share my experiences
And let us all grow from them,
But what they really want
Is a chance to make “nothing” of them.
Everyone in college is so sure they know it all,
As if they came to teach.
But it’s only the instructors who know the material,
But only for what they preach.
It’s just so hard
To get them all on a level
That everyone can comprehend
Without having to be so clever.

4-16-1993
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: SJ

Have Faith In Me

Be my child and trust Me.
You need not fear Me.
I am only One who loves you.
The One who loves you most.
You could never lose Me
As long as You just trust Me.
Have faith in Me, child.
You are Mine and I love you.
Rest – yes! Because you need
To be in better form for life.
Your heart needs to rest
And we need to talk (in your dreams).
Be there and have faith.
I LOVE YOU.
God is your Father.

3-27-1993 Saturday
Written by Gail Brookshire

Trapped Inside a Writer

She’s a writer, but she’s trapped inside.
She wants to get out, but it all just hides.
Her feelings are her emotions, but her emotions her feelings.
She can’t just forget them, they’re still healing.
What she can’t share, she wants to so much.
But she’s so afraid of that painful touch.
What if she didn’t survive? What if she couldn’t make it?
What if her heart was broken, she just couldn’t take it?
She would hurt. She would die.
Just to let you in, she could cry.
It’s such a risk to take the chance.
She’s so in love, but afraid of romance.
What if she trusted you and then felt the pain?
The wedge of the knife would drive her insane.
Just give her time, she’ll someday speak.
She’s dying to share with you, but she’s just too weak.

3-26-1993 Friday
Written by Gail Brookshire

The Love Within a Child

The love within a child before he has seen tragedy and after may seem to be different, but it is very much the same. He is the same child in body, but his mind has gained knowledge.

Before a child is introduced to trauma, his love is strong, pure, and unable to destroy. He feels free enough to run through a field barefooted and carefree.

The child after seeing trauma has strong, pure, and certainly indestructible love. He just runs through the field protected by shoes and prepared for falls.

Also the child before misery enjoys sharing, loving, and laughing. He’ll spend the night with a friend, and gets to know the friend through sharing, loving, and laughing.

The child after misery likes to share, love, and laugh with a friend as well. However, he will take time to get to know his friend first; then, spend the night.

Though the child after tragedy may need or seek counseling to overcome withdrawal and bitterness, he will come to terms with life and learn to live again. His mind may be a little wiser, but his heart is just as tender as the child before.

2-1-1993
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: SJ challenging me to write about persuasion

Silence, A Hero

A lot of people think that the best way to survive a tragedy is to cry for help, but as some of us learn, silence can be the lifesaver. As a young girl, Jodi Manners entered childhood in tragedy. A maniac grabbed Jodi from the sidewalk she was walking on, threw her into a dark van, and raped her innocent body. He then drove a dagger through Jodi’s arm, begged her to scream for pleasure, and smile when she cried. Continuing to cut her young flesh, the maniac told Jodi to let the evil run out of her wicked body, and laughed as she bled.
After the maniac enjoyed his pleasure of Jodi’s pain, he took her to a place far away and threw her into a room with a bunch of girls.They were crying, bleeding, and some lifeless. They laid all over the place bloody and scared, tied to poles and chained to walls, and begging for mercy. There was no telling how long they had been there or how long this had been going on.
Soon after seeing this and being a part of this continuous nightmare, Jodi noticed the violent torture always occurred when the maniac would rape his victims and become outraged when they screamed. He always told them, “You sound like a whore when you beg for my touch.” Then he would torture them until they stopped screaming; even if it meant death. It was something Jodi found it hard to “get use to.”
Finally one day, when the maniac dragged Jodi outside where he had slaughtered some of the young girls, he tied her to a tree and told her she was next. Jodi noticed her hands were slipping from the rope and prayed inwardly for a chance to run. As the maniac laid the shovel he was digging her grave with down and turned to pick up the bodies of the other girls, Jodi grabbed for the shovel and swung it into the back of his head and ran. She didn’t look back to see if he was dead or anything.
Jodi made it to safety far away and was picked up off the streets by the law. After growing up in a group home, Jodi healed on the outside and grew on the inside, alone. She never told anyone about the tragedy; instead she excused her scars as abuse from a home from which she ran away.
Some people would think Jodi needed to open up and tell someone about the tragedy she completely understood, but in this incident, Jodi is the only one who understands the cost of crying for help. So don’t always assume that counseling is the best thing for everyone because if the only thing that can harm someone is opening up about something only they know, it’s better off left alone as the owner’s secrets to deal with.

1-15-1993
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Narrative assignment for professor and friend S.J.
There was a mutual profound silence after her remarks regarding this paper meant as a challenge to me because I was a silent person. I was surprised by the unique friendship I found in her supportive silence. I had no idea she thought so much of my writing.

School is Too Cool

*Just so ya know… this one is a little long*

School, it’s cool, but so is the snow.
Playing and sleighing, and snowballs to throw.
But oh, wait a minute, I can’t get out.
The weather is freezing and the power went out.
How can I eat? The stores are closed.
The roads are icy and the pipes are froze.
What? No water? I can’t take a shower?
Oh well, I’d freeze in this bitter cold hour.

Friends trapped, to stay inside alone.
Thank God, for the only thing left, the phone!
Talking it through together, trying to survive.
The cruel and bitter struggle to stay alive.
Boy, it sure is dark. I can’t see a thing.
It’s been hours since I’ve heard the phone ring.
People I love are too cold to move, becoming sick.
After the radio dies, I hear only my watch tick.

I find some batteries I forgot were stored away.
Now to hear what the news had to say.
Car accidents, fires, people are stranded.
Voices talk of the streets and says they’ll be sanded.
Yet still voices beg, pleading to all,
Stay at home safe and warm. Don’t get out at all.
It’s dangerous to be exposed to this degree of cold.
Don’t try to be a hero. It kills young and old.

Now it’s hypothermia the voices start to teach.
How many homes and people will they reach?
Finally, it clears a little. The streets start to melt.
God is saying it’s okay now. Here’s the sun to help.
Temperatures rise again. How good it feels to be warm.
Now it’s off to the store. I fight within the swarm.
I see the shelves start to bare, then start heading back,
And in the empty parking lots I see a lot of tracks.

People had been playing in the snow with their trucks.
Doughnut marks and sliding streaks showed, they played without getting stuck.
Oh Hallelujah! The water’s on and the power is too.
I can take a nice hot shower… oooooooh!
My freshly dryer dried towel and warm pair of jeans.
And oh yes, how good it feels just to be clean.
Cooking something warm to eat, I lean over the stove.
Now this smells good to my thawed out nose!

I finally get to watch the news and see how bad it is.
Boy, was this worth all the school I have missed?
No, not at all. The world has fallen apart.
Let’s go back to school before things get too hard.
At least we have heat at school and the streets are good to go.
I’d much rather sit in class, than to be a prisoner to snow.
Many people are in tragedy just to feel the cold.
When it come to education over tragedy, Hey, I’m sold!!

1993 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, Jan.31, 1994 Issue, Front page-page 2)
(by the grace of God)

Keep Fighting

Come on, keep fighting.
Don’t give up.
Life was meant
to be this tough.
It’s not that easy
to have it all.
To rise above,
you must take the fall.
To read and write
is to live and learn.
To love and care
is to touch and burn.
To have a choice
is to know to choose.
To have something to gain
there must be something to lose.
To appreciate the gift
you must nurture the object.
To pass the class
you must study the subject.

1993 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, June 9, 1994 Issue, page 4,
in Expressions, July 12, 1993 Issue, page 2,
and in J.O.B.S. Newsline, April, May, June 1993 Issue, page 4)
(by the grace of God)
This poem was my 1st assignment for the campus newspaper at my 1st college for my A.A. I was surprised at the response. The Editor made a note about the beautiful poem and my talent. Students and professors said it was beautiful, some asking for an autograph. I admit I laughed because I had never been asked before and thought they were teasing. Some I had been in class with for awhile and were good friends with. I was quickly made to understand I was mocking them. Praise the Lord to sign put a smile back on their face. They were extra thankful when I gave permission to hang the poem on their fridge, mirror, and other places. I was shocked! Most surprising was everyone calling it BEAUTIFUL. It was a last minute assignment, and I felt like I “just done enough” to get it in. God is so good! And so surprising!

Behind The Degree

Look there,
behind the degree.
Oh what a joy,
a whole new me.
A future, a plan,
a way to survive.
A way of succeeding
and feeling alive.
Supporting myself,
my family to be,
behind the door
of my promising.
What things I want.
What things I entice.
Oh the luxuries
will feel so nice.
For even with
the bills to pay,
I see a day
my work is play.
Behind the door
A little degree
creates the wonder,
a whole new me.

1993 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, May 3, 1993 Issue, page 9)
(by the grace of God)
This was also written for a campus paper assignment that everyone loved so much. (See previous note on my poem Keep Fighting). God was making a whole new memory for me (I’ll explain that someday in a blog), and making so many people smile! How many times God blessed my ears with, “This encouraged me just when I needed it so much. Thank you for writing this!” Being thanked for writing? I LOVED writing! 🙂