AutobiographyA Poem by Barbara WalkerI WROTE THIS SOME YEARS AGO, SO IT'S NOT UP TO DATE ON MY LIFE.
I began in the usual way, then came learning to crawl and walking. Suddenly, I was old enough to ride in a wagon and I was Annie Oakley, as I said, "Hands up, Mister!"
As my world grew larger, I was building forts, burying treasure and hunting for spiders and snakes. I was pretty good at baseball, kickball and tether ball, too, and I did okay on roller skates.
I'd fish in a neighbor's pond and bait your hook for you, I hiked in the mountains and searched for arrowheads, too. I rode my bike everywhere and drove our go-cart to the max, there wasn't much I wouldn't dare.
When I grew up, one of my favorite things to do, was taking drives in my car; to the beach, to hear the waves crashing and watch the seagulls circle and soar, to the desert, climbing dunes, relishing the sun, to the mountains, smelling nature's sweet perfume and gazing at spring flowers and more- I'd ride my motorcycle on city streets and in the desert, how I loved the whoop-de-do's.
I played on a woman's softball league; I was clean-up batter, played first and third and I was a first rate catcher. I was on a bowling league, team name-Afternoon Delight! Our main goal was to have fun, me, Kathy and Sissy Whyte.
As for work, one job always led to another, better hours, better pay. I raised my kids the best I could, I tried to pay my way. Just when I was at a place in life, I was really glad to be, just when I could feel secure, it all came crumbling down upon me.
I've gone through some horrid times- no money, no friends, no home, with people treating me, as if, I'd committed heinous crimes. I thought being robbed of my trust in others, was the worst that could happen to me, but I find there is another, as pain strips me of my dignity.
It robs me of my self-control, my sense of-this is who I am- is lost, it's gone to hell. Once dignity is lost, it's quite difficult to regain. It's as if you've been seen naked, you can never be seen as the same.
One goes through life, thinking, as far as the body goes, it won't change much from day to day. Your thoughts never about an injury, changing your life in a heartbreaking way.
Everyday in every way, I'm losing more of me. How much more can a shattered vase break?
06/02/03 © 2012 Barbara WalkerFeatured Review
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Added on August 28, 2008Last Updated on March 4, 2012 AuthorBarbara WalkerLake Havasu City, AZAboutI am retired from the Postal Service. I find I write poetry to help myself through difficult times and I have written many poems in response to the chronic pain I've been living with for over 30 year.. more..Writing
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