TJ White Writes

 A little while ago I watched a video of Prince Harry discussing mental health and the invisible wounds we carry in our hearts. That coupled with my own experiences, inspired this new poem.  Invisible Visible I wear these hidden wounds Like battle scars across my chest. Emblazoned with a smile, Punctuated with dry tears     You can't see. My heart is blistered, Burned by the every day Ordinary happenings; Things you'd never get     And can't feel. All those events of Long ago and yesterday Replay like old records; Played by a broken needle     You can't fix. I'm weary and aching From holding it all together, From picking up the pieces Of this lonely broken soul     I can't put back together Alone. Because, Bleeding hearts are bleeding Nonetheless. Wounded minds Broken by the ordinary... And the extraordinary;     Can be mended.     Can be lifted.   If only I could let you in. By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

I wrote this one AGES ago, but revisited it recently to make some minor edits and repost it. In making those grammatical edits I was reminded of how often I read this poem in my darkest hours. Some of you may know (others most definitely do not), but there was a period of my life when things were looking pretty grim and I wasn't sure I could go on.  Although I didn't realize it at the time, this poem kept me grounded and reminded me why I needed to hold on; even for just one more day. I Can't Go Yet I will miss the smell of my daughter’s hair,     And the way she always smells like washing powder and little girl fun. I will miss my son's squeezes,     And the way he curls in my lap and wraps his arms around my neck like he'll never let me go.  I will miss the feel of cold cotton sheets     When I climb in to bed and the way the wind blows the curtains in the bedroom.  I will miss the creek of the hardwood floors in the hall      And

You make me feel completely discombobulated; Like I'm something I am     most definitely not. Around you I feel frigid, chilled, ice cold to the bone. But clearly this sweat     tells me I'm hot. With you in this room I feel confined and contained; Like I'm a prisoner     with something to hide. Sitting near you makes my stomach lurch nauseated; Like I'm riding the rails,     yet I'm not on a ride. Your eyes make me question my personal identity; Who I thought I was, and am, are     no longer set in stone. Standing in this crowded room I feel desolate; Like a life boat cast out to sea,     utterly and completely alone. You are my nemesis disguised as my devoted ally; Like a monster masked by     the face of a friend. You offer new beginnings, olive branches, and cures, But all you truly dish out is a     shortcut to the end. By: T.J. Ruberto (c) 2017

* A  quick little something I wrote while cruising along the 401 with my hubby today.  This one will need a bit of fine tuning, I think. Feel free to leave a comment; I'd love to hear your thoughts.  Call Out  Whisper to me     through the noise. Across the distance    send your voice. Call out to me     and sing me home. You've won my heart     It's yours alone. You are my shade     and my summer sun, You're my grown up sadness     And my childhood fun. You bring me back     when I drift away. Your voice calls to me     reminds me to stay. Whisper to me     through the noise. Across the distance    send your voice. By: T.J Ruberto (c) 2017