I could have written this poem every day of my life. I wrote it in 1980, when spring had sprung. Nobody wanted to hear me—I was a crip you know, with cerebral palsy—to whatever degree you want to look at it. If truth be told, instead of being accepted, I was regarded as a paralyzed, weakened individual who was disabled and treated differently from other people in this world.

I was not considered a real human being who deserved respect and dignity. Instead, I was used for all the good qualities I had then and have now. When people finished using me, they tossed me aside, only to be used again, or trampled over, flattened by children stampeding in an Easter egg hunt. Oh ya. My prize—one lollipop.

And you know what? That really happened when I was only four years old. Yet I saw the sunshine through it all. I found out I didn’t want to be an angry human. Plus, I wanted to deal with the experience, release the hurt in my heart, and rise above it to become a kinder, more compassionate person.

Sitting outside on a beautiful day in 1980, looking back on that experience, the warm sunshine and fresh air soothed me. But just for a moment. Within me, the temperature rose to a boil, despite the cool breeze, and the inferno burst into a blaze. I had to deal with it.

Within me, the sparks fired fast, one after another. No words were spoken aloud, not even one. And not more than a minute went by. In the deep crevices of my soul, I had to breathe. I had to feel the pain and deal with the memories courageously. I and I alone had to feel my feelings, because I and I alone could put out my own fire.

I had to be the one to treat myself with kindness and compassion, to start the process of forgiveness. If I didn’t, and I couldn’t pick up my broken pieces and start over again, I’d live with pent-up anger and resentment, the rest of my life. And I’d spread the pain by blaming others.

More than ever, I had to put all this to rest, and love and help myself. I had to nurture and change my thoughts, to bless myself, to breathe, and face everything—and let go of the hurt and pain that triggered me. It was not too late.

Still Ablaze

The warm sun shone,
And the air was fresh all around,
But inside, the temperature rose

The cool, crisp elements
Brought sparks
Which turned into a cerise inferno

Words were not spoken
Sharp objects flew about
“Oh dear”, cried the young woman.
“I tried to save our house from fire”
But it was too late
All was lost
All that remained,
Was still ablaze!

You can order my poetry collection, including this poem, here: Reflections of My Heart.

Original text ©2024 by Karen Lynn-Chlup. All rights reserved. Image courtesy of WikiMedia Commons.