A Poem by Sweede

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sweede
Hi folks, here's a wee poem I wrote a few years ago, not long after my double ostomy surgery. I found it again a few weeks ago, so what the heck, I'm gonna post it up for you folks. I call it "A Free Spirit Up for Sale". Hope you enjoy.

How can one become so broken?
Reduced to nothing but a token
of society.

Variety has been taken away,
each day the same as the next day,
a passenger on the road that was once my highway.
"Party's over, dude... catch ya later.
We're cruising off now to chase our dreams, it seems,
on the flip side... spectator."

A child of despair unable to repair
the damage that's been done,
a child on the run,
disbelief,
abusing drugs for relief.

"This non-conforming runaway
needs reforming right away.
Let's crush his soul for his own protection,
allow his bowl to flow with rejection"
and resistance,
for you failed to drown out the call
of the drums in the distance.

A free spirit up for sale
to any lover with a similar tale.
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Past Member

Very impressive Sweede

Lets not forget that life is dear

Just because we got no rear!!

We can still love and play

Thank you God for another day

I'll stand up straight, like a man

I'll show the world, oh yes I can

I will not wimper, never cry

If I fail, again I'll try

Life will test your very mettle

For second best I will not settle

I'll be the best that I can be

Others are watching, what will they see

Dont let them see that you'll give in

Remember always, who dares.. wins!!

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sweede

Equally as impressive superhero, and very motivating also, so I guess it looks like we got a poetry slam goin' down. Yay! Take it easy, dude.

Past Member

Thanks Sweede, now that you and I have ours down... A challenge to the rest of our members... Let's see your best.

sounitha

Sweede,
That was a sweet poem. Truly inspiring! Praise be to God.
I too had the same spirit inside me which made me stand up and show the world that I am not broken after my urostomy surgery at the age of 12.
Sounida

 
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ximena
This is the translation I made of a poem I wrote a few months after getting my colostomy. My mother-tongue is French, so be indulgent with my (sometimes) halting and faulty English.
Here we go :

AN IMPOSTOR

On my belly the stoma
gently gurgles
going glug-glug.
I am alone and I enjoy
not being ashamed.
A few centimeters above
the navel my mother made me
I now have another opening on the world
related in some way or other
to the eyes and hands
of a surgeon
I know nothing about.

A flower on my stomach
born from the manure cooking inside.
Red
it sprouted on my skin
and it doesn't conceal
the kisses from its lips.
Fountain, walled-in spring, it splutters
and sometimes falls asleep at dawn.

I hate it I love it
il makes me different
maladjusted
it makes of me a fake
among the crowd :
seemingly alone, I have got company.
Secretely I wear
a red carnation
in the buttonhole of my belly.

And now the original French version of the same :

IMPOSTURE.

Sur mon ventre la stomie
rgurgite doucement
faisant glou-glou
Je suis seule
momentanment dlivre de ma honte.Quelques centimtres au-dessus
du nombril (fil rompu entre moi et ma mre)
j'ai maintenant une autre ouverture sur le monde
relie d'une manire ou de l'autre
aux yeux et aux mains
d'un chirurgien
dont je ne sais rien.

Une fleur sur mon ventre
ne de la dliquescence qui bouillonne au-dedans.
Rouge
elle a clos sur ma peau
et ne dissimule pas le baiser de ses lvres.
Fontaine mure elle gargouille dans la nuit
et s'endort parfois
sur les notes silencieuses de l'aurore.

Je l'aime je la hais.
Elle me rend diffrente
dpareille.
elle fait de moi une tricheuse
au milieu de la foule.
Apparemment seule
j'ai de la compagnie :
je porte un oeillet rouge
la cicatrice de ma vie.

Jo.

Seede, I loved your poem.
Super-hero, yours is a plea for life and optimism.
sweede

Wow!! That is an excellent poem, Ximena. Very delicate, it made me smile and frown, and brought sorrow in the sweetest possible way. I really, really love it.
You have a real talent there (that only the French have, lol). x

And Southina, thanks for the comment. The drums are heard by us all, it only takes the courage to follow the sound. Some fear rejection if they dance to the beat, but they are our sounds and our beat also. The fear of rejection is in us all. If you keep dancing, others will follow, and the stigma of rejection is no more. x

ximena
I, Sweede, thank you for your appreciation.

Well, I'm determined to keep dancing and listening to the drums!

Fear of rejection, yes, I guess you can't escape that altogether, but my way to overcome it is to think of myself first as an artist, a writer, a woman who likes to meet people, to travel, to enjoy life, and who, incidentally, wears a bag... and not as an ostomate who remains hidden in her lair like a wounded beast!

Jo.
eddie

Hey Sweede, your message moved me. I have felt that also.
Eddie

sweede

I imagine most of us have felt like that many times post-op, Eddie. Thanks for sharing your honesty.

eddie

Thanks, honestly is my best and worst trait. You sound fairly open yourself. It takes self-honesty to write as you do, and you write well.
Eddie

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