Friday, May 23, 2008

My "I Love You"

Funny that I wrote a rant about wanting people to be positive, isn't it? How hypocritical. I'm complex, what can I say? I guess a rave is in order.

I have written poetry since I was a kid. I scrawled what was probably my first one on the chalkboard in my playroom, and it made my parents crack up. I wrote a poem in grade school, for a contest with the theme "What I Want To Be When I Grow Up", that won first prize.

I don't really write consistently. Sometimes years go by, and I don't write anything. Other times, I write several in one week. In my teen and early adult years, I often wrote when I was depressed or angry, so my poetry was quite dark, but it helped me to get through whatever I was going through at the time. I don't usually sit down intending to write a poem. That's not how it works. Usually one just pops into my head while I'm driving, or laying down about to fall asleep.

Yesterday Jim and I took Dylan for his 18 month pediatrician visit. Dylan HATES going there. He hates the scale, he hates the thing put on his head to measure it, he hates the white crinkly paper, he hates the poking, he hates the prodding, he hates the nurses, he hates the doctors, and of course, he hates the shots. He screams/wails/cries/blubbers/clings to us like he is a monkey climbing a tree/tries to open the door to escape/looks at us with the "why are you doing this to me" eyes, the WHOLE TIME. It is torture. Each time he has to get more shots I pray, "Please let him be fine. Please don't let him have a reaction to this shot". I think about the parents who watch their happy, engaging child slip away from them into autism, and I am terrified. This time was no exception. As I held my amazingly strong child still, while he was getting the shots, and I said the prayer, this poem started to form... ( I know that there is a children's book titled "You Are My I Love You", but I have never read it, so if this is similar, I apologize).

You Are My I Love You

You are my questions, my how's, and my why's.
You are my rainbows, my stars, my blue skies.

You are my truth, my armor from fear.
You are my understanding, my everything made clear.

You are my map, my search, my treasure.
You are my happiness, my laughter, my pleasure.

You are my winning ticket, my shooting star, my pot of gold.
You are my future, my story to be told.

You are my horoscope, my fortune, my sign.
You are my calendar, my watch, my teller of time.

You are my weekend, my workweek, my holiday.
You are my journey, my path, my one way.

You are my hours, my days, my nights.
You are my cause, my reason to fight.

You are my mirror, my bad, and my good.
You are my "I can"'s, my "I will"'s, my "I should"'s.

You are my joy, my courage, my strength.
You are my "whatever it takes", my "I'll go to any length".

You are my miracle, my blessing, my dream come true.
You are my everything, you are my "I Love You".


Janet said...

This made my cry. I would copy it down and read it to my children, but I'd never get through it without breaking down. You should publish it - get someone to illustrate it (or do it yourself). It's far better than a couple of the books we checked out of the library last week.

Lisa @ Boondock Ramblings said...

That is so sweet.

So lovely. I feel gooey and slushy inside. *sigh*

My brother writes poetry. You can find it on my site under Unfinished Person.

You might like to read his Wordsmith Wednesdays, which is where he features his poetry.

Lijy said...

That was soooooooooooooooo good. I wish I could express my feelings that way. I think I am going to cry..

you are just awesome.

Lijy said...
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Kristi @ Mi Vida Ocupada said...

Beautiful poem :)

Kellan said...

This was wonderful, Jen - beautiful!! You are a very talented writer and I so enjoy reading your stuff!!

Have a good weekend - good luck with the house -see you - Kellan

Anonymous said...

So sweet!

It was wonderful to meet you last night. Sorry I had to bail early - looking forward to getting together again.

JCK said...

This was beautiful, Jen. Lovely. Isn't it fun how poems come?

Burgh Baby said...

Dude. Get Jim to illustrate that sucker, bind it, and I'm buying it. You rock!

Shellie said...

That was a great poem!

Sparx said...

Hey, that's so sweet. I hate taking the spud for shots too, it's heartbreaking.