Saving Martha’s Vineyard

Imagine for a moment what your life would be like without all of the luxuries that you take for granted everyday.

Your morning coffee from Starbucks . . . gone.

That gourmet bagel that you can’t possibly start your day without . . . let’s get rid of that, too, along with all of the other food in your pantry and refrigerator.

Go ahead and throw away that adorable brand new outfit also . . . and don’t forget the matching purse, shoes, and the rest of the clothes in your closet except for the oldest and most worn outfit that you have.  That one you can keep.

All of the super expensive toiletries . . . yep, trash them.

Now take some scissors to the debit card, credit card, checks and bank accounts.

The nice car sitting in front of your home . . . gone.

As a matter of fact, let’s take your home out of the picture as well.

Where does that leave you?  Does that leave you hungry, dirty, broke and homeless?

It’s a good thing you have all of that fridge full of food to keep you from feeling the pangs of hunger, the expensive soaps and shampoos to keep you clean and smelling pretty, the change in your pocket to keep you from being broke, and a roof over your head to protect you from the hot summer sun and bitterly cold winds of winter.  It certainly is a good thing . . .

But what about the people in your town or city . . . You know the ones that I am talking about.  They are the ones that we see walking through downtown carrying all of their belonging in plastic grocery bags or in a shopping cart.  They are the ones that we pretend not to see because they are dirty and don’t smell good.  They are the ones who make their home in abandoned buildings and under bridges.  They are the ones that we pretend not to see because to look at them would remind us that the blink of an eye would be all it took to put us in their position.  They are the ones who freeze to death in the winter because they are sleeping outside while we are snuggled warmly in our bed.  They are the ones who scavenge through our dumpsters and garbage cans hoping to make a meal from what we throw away.  While we balk over the price of our morning latte they are sitting on corners begging for change to buy a little bit of food.

They are men and women.  They are somebody’s son or daughter.  They might be somebody’s mom or dad.  They might be alcoholics or drug addicts, or they might be someone who fell on hard times and can’t get back up.  They are homeless.  They are hungry.  They are fighters.  They are people.

They are people just like you and me.

But many of you can’t even look at a homeless person.  If we happen to see somebody who is homeless we turn up our nose in disgust to hide the fear that sets into our heart.  We fear that their homelessness is a communicable disease that we might catch like a cold or the flu.  We are scared that tomorrow those hard times could befall us and we could be the next one sitting on a corner in shabby clothes begging for change or sleeping under a bridge.  But if we don’t look at them then they don’t exist and we can continue on happily with our day like an ostrich with its head stuck in the ground.

You may be asking yourself just what brought on this diatribe, especially since I usually stick to posting cheesy poetry and short stories and the latest pathetic drama going on in my life.  Well, it was a story I saw on t.v a couple of days ago.

There is a woman in my town by the name of Martha.  She has run a mission called Martha’s Vineyard for 24 years.  It started out as just her cooking meals one day a week for the less fortunate people at her church.  Then it grew into cooking a couple of days a week and volunteers helping her.  Over time she outgrew the facilities of her church and had to move into her own building, thus was born Martha’s Vineyard.  Everyday the Vineyard cooks meals for anyone who sits down at one of Martha’s tables.  Volunteers go out into the neighborhoods every few days taking meals to those that can’t make it to the Vineyard.  She makes up boxes of food for anyone who comes to her for help.  I personally can attest to the heart that this woman has, as I have been the recipient of a couple of those boxes over the years.

She never turns anyone away that comes to her.  She doesn’t judge anybody because of how they look or smell or because of how often they come to the Vineyard.  For many of those people the meals that Martha and her volunteers prepare are the only meal that they get.  Martha even gives up her Thanksgiving every year to make a big turkey dinner with all of the traditional sides.  They serves that Thanksgiving dinner to anyone who shows up at her door and they deliver it out into the neighborhood.

Martha never asks for money in return for the meal that you enjoy at her table.  She will ask that if you are able-bodied that you be willing to do some volunteer time making sandwiches, or putting together food boxes, or even sweeping the floor.  If you can’t, or just don’t want to, she will never deny you a spot at her table.

Martha is doing the work that God put into her heart to do almost 25 years ago.  She knows that she and her life have been blessed by the Lord and this is her way of giving back.  She is truly being the hands and feet of God for many people who might go hungry if it weren’t for her.  Those homeless people who you and I try not to see as we go through our day are welcomed at Martha’s Vineyard with a warm smile, and even warmer hug and a greeting like they had just showed up for a family reunion.  Everybody deserves to be treated with respect and dignity no matter their financial situation or where they live, and that is something that Martha remembers everyday.

But Martha’s Vineyard has fallen on hard times itself.  After a particularly hard winter for western Kentucky and now going into a very hot summer the Vineyard is feeling the pinch of rising utility costs paired with dwindling financial donations.  Food donations are not a problem at all for Martha.  People are always willing to drop off canned goods and other non-perishable.  Plus she is one of the recipients of the “Groceries for Good” program that several of our local grocery stores sponsor in November.  During the rest of the year one of the local grocery stores keeps her supplied with breads, fruits and vegetables, and meat.  But those food donations don’t pay the bills.  Nobody thinks about the fact that Martha has an electric bill, water bill, and gas bill just like you and I.

Martha is faced with the very real possibility of having to close the doors to the Vineyard by the end of this month.  She has spent the last few months paying the utilities of her own personal bank account to make sure that the Vineyard stays open for those that need her.  She has completely drained her bank account though.  She doesn’t have enough money to keep the Vineyard open for another month.  God in her heart to serve the people and she has given everything she has to that mission.  Now she may have to close doors and do something that she has not done in 24 years . . . turn people away.

What a tragic loss it will be for our community if Martha has to close the Vineyard.  Yes, there are food pantries that will pick up the slack, but they don’t have the heart that Martha has.  They don’t share the word of God over a hot meal the way Martha will.  They won’t ask about your family and have a conversation with you the way Martha always makes time to do.  They won’t offer you a comforting hug and let you cry on their shoulder as your head hangs in embarrassment because you are having to hang up your pride and ask for help.  Many of the food pantries will only help you if you meet their stringent list of requirements and qualifications, but Martha never turns anyone away.  She always has a spot at her table for you.  All you have to do it show up at her door.

Don’t you think that is a mission worth saving?

Take a moment to think about all the blessing that fill your life.  Now think about what it would be like to not know where your next meal is coming from, or having to fight back your pride to ask for help feeding your kids because the paycheck just didn’t stretch to the grocery store.  It’s a pretty scary though, isn’t it?

You don’t have to be in my town to help Martha with her mission.  God calls us to help everyone, to love everyone the way He loves us.  Martha has answered that call from God.  Please help her continue in her work.  Help keep her doors open.

Here is the story that our local t.v. station did about Martha’s Vineyard on Friday.

Remember that one raindrop from many clouds can become a flood.

Thank you!

Until next time . . .

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5 years . . .

I heard somewhere once that if you can put into words why you love someone then it’s not really love.  I heartily disagree with that statement.  I believe that if you can’t put into words why you love someone then it’s not really love.
Today is the anniversary of the day I met my best friend and brother.  When I met him I had no idea what he would come to mean to me, and I believe that he doesn’t quite grasp what he means to me.
5 years have passed like the blink of an eye, but in that time he and I have shared so much.  We have laughed together, and cried together.  We have encouraged each other, and kept each other grounded.  He have fought and made up.  We have ridden the roller coaster of friendship with our arms held high eager to take on the next twist and turn.
I originally started this post as the abridged story of our friendship, but how do you stuff five years of memories into just a few paragraphs?  How do you abridge the feelings associated with those events?  You really can’t, so may it really is impossible to put love into words.
He didn’t have my heart from the beginning, but he quickly earned it without even trying. What grew from training a new coworker on his first day at my station is beyond my heart’s comprehension. We know each other forward and backward. We can say so much without saying a word. A hug can’t take away pain, but it put a bandaid on the hurt and lift up hope. I have learned so much from him about faithfulness, forgiveness, patience, and the power to overcome.
I have learned so much from home about love and the enduring power of friendship.
Today I do not recognize and celebrate the past 5 years that he and I have known each other. Today I celebrate all of the memories that we have made, and the years to come that will allow us to build more memories. I celebrate all of the silly jokes that left our bellies hurting from laughter and tears rolling down our faces. I celebrate all of the things we have in common and the differences that give us something new to learn about each other everyday. I celebrate all that you are and have yet to become, and what you have also helped me to become. I celebrate all of our good times and bad, and all those moments in our future that we will stash in our mental box of memories.
From that first “you are a fan of DCI, too” moment that made us friends, to sharing lunch, quoting “That Thing You Do,” his continuing to educate me on all things Superhero, to the time he picked me up after reality set in a bit too hard for me to handle, to his middle-of-the-night move, the months we spent not speaking, the moment that he forgave me, and so much more that really can not be put into words.
He is not just a coworker. He is not just a friend. He is my brother. I love him with all of my heart and thank God everyday that saw fit to bring us together. My life has been made better because of him, and I hope that I have made a difference in his life as well.

To the past 5 years, and to the many more years to come, my friend . . . I will always have a hug waiting for you, and an ear waiting to hear you sing my theme song. Thank you for being you. I wouldn’t have you any other way.

With love always,
your tiny little hater friend,
Carrie

Walk Away (poem)

I give up
I’ve reached my end
I’m tired of fighting
a fight I can’t win
No matter what your words say
Your truth you can not hide
I am done waiting and hoping
for what I thought you kept buried inside
But the words that do escape from you
are nothing but a lie
And all the words you never said
are what made my hope for you die
With reluctance I bid farewell
to the hope and the dream
that your hatred would lay down enough
so you could become the man inside you I see
Goodbye to laughter
and to tears
Goodbye to insecurity
and to fear
Goodbye to hoping for the hopeless
Goodbye to insurmountable distrust
Goodbye to friendship that had no chance
as you make me say goodbye to us.
 
By:  Carrie Leigh
06.24.14

Dangerous hope

Hope . . . It’s a very powerful word . . .
As kids, “I hope I get that cool new toy for Christmas.”
As teenagers, “I hope he asks me to the dance.”
As adults, “I hope I get the job.”
There are things we hope for everyday.  Some of those things are little . . . “I hope my caffeine kicks in soon.”  Some of the things we hope for are huge . . . “I hope the test results come back alright.”
Hope is something we reach out for and hold on to the way a child holds their favorite stuffed animal.  We need hope to get through tough times.  Hope makes things just a little less scary and a bit more manageable.  As long as we have hope then there is still a chance that things could go the way we want.
But what if you are holding onto hope in a hopeless situation?
Having hope in a situation where there is no hope is dangerous.  Allow me to explain what I mean.
I am an optimist.  People think that means that I am in a perpetual rainbows-and-glittery-sunshine mood.  That could not be more wrong.  Yes, I have bad days.  Yes, I get angry.  Yes, I have temper tantrums.  Yes, I get sad.  Yes, I cry, and sometimes feel like there is nothing left in the world to fight for.  That isn’t succumbing to pessimism though.  That is merely getting discouraged.
The good thing about getting discouraged is that, as an optimist, I can see what brought me down and know that once the temper tantrum is thrown and the tears are shed I will bounce back.  I will learn from the experience and continue moving forward.  There is one simple thing that keeps an optimist moving forward . . . Hope.
The opposite side if the optimistic coin is pessimism.  I have a few friends that for into that category.  They are not constantly down and depressed, just as I’m not always glitter and rainbows.  But where I like in a world filled with possibility they live in world filled with expected disappointments.  I hope for things to go well, and they expect things to go wrong.
Which is the better way to live, you may ask?  I prefer to live with hope, but that is just me.  Optimism versus pessimism . . . Both are coping mechanisms that a person uses to get through a day.  Neither one is wrong.  Everybody copes differently
I’m getting sidetracked . . .
Back to how hope can be dangerous . . .
As an optimist I am overflowing with hope.  When you mix those two together you get a reality built up so high on a pedestal that it sometimes comes crashing down very hard.  Because so much hope was built up I don’t know how to deal with some situations that don’t live up to my hopes.  The same goes for people who don’t live up to my hopes.
My warped little hopeful and optimistic mind thinks that with enough of my glitter and rainbow in their life a pessimistic person can make a turn around.  I realize that it’s quite egotistical to think that way, but in the end I just want to see everyone happy.  I want everyone to have hope.
When I meet someone who is quite obviously a pessimist . . . Game on!  I go to work.  It’s not something I consciously do.  It’s just who I am.  I try to reinforce the positive aspects of their life so that maybe they will see past all of their own negativity.  Some people just don’t want to climb out of their negative little world.  Being worse than a pessimist is what makes them happy.  By the time I come to that realization my hope for them has been built up so much that I know to let it go will temporarily shatter everything that makes me Me.
I can’t give up hope.  I am incapable of it.  That is what makes hope dangerous.
Having too much hope can detach you from reality.  It can cloud your vision so that you see only what you want to see and not what is really there.  When the rose-colored glasses finally come off I am left quickly scrambling to find them again because the hopelessness before me is too ugly for me to deal with.  To give up hope is to admit that i was wrong in judging that persons character.  To give up hope is to admit that I let them use me, take advantage of me.  To give up hope is to admit that the other person is not worthy of being rescued from themselves, even when they obviously do not want to be rescued.
I can’t give up hope.
Having hope in a hopeless situation is dangerous.
Having hope is dangerous.
Hope is dangerous.
But I can’t give up hope . . . even when I finally see you for what you really are.  To give up hope would be to give up on you.
I am incapable of giving up.  I hope.
Until next time . . .

Ledbetter bridge is falling down

The McCracken County side of the old Ledbetter bridge . . .

At over 80 years old it started collapsing on April 30, 2014.  Spring thaw after a very icy and snowy winter along with a very rainy spring softened the ground that their piers stood on.  The Kentucky Transportation Department started scrambling to plan for the demolition of the bridge which had closed to traffic a year upon completion of its replacement.  Equipment started moving into the area this week with demolition scheduled to start at the end of June.

The bridge had other plans . . .

The evening Friday, June 20, 2014 . . .

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A handwritten sign asking to not disturb the area as it was under surveillance.

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The 3 spans leading up to the bridge deck.  A year ago they were level with the road and deck.

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The 2nd span was barely hanging on to the pier.  A weak breeze would have been enough to bring it down.

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The road leading up the the first span is on the left, and the first span is on the right.  Sensors on the 2×4’s at the top of the picture monitored the spans movement.

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The road on the left side of the picture.  The first bridge is on the right.  In the middle of the picture is the riverbed beneath the bridge.

And then Sunday, June 22, 2014 at 2:07 a.m . . .IMG_20140622_120305_768

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It only took a few seconds and the bending metal sounded like screaming animals when the first and second spans came down.  The third span leading up to the bridge deck is barely hanging on as it rests on a pier that itself is leaning dangerously.

A year ago cars were driving on this bridge to get across the Tennessee River between McCracken and Livingston counties.  As of this morning 2 spans of the ramp leading to the bridge lay on the ground below.  The hanging guardrails appear like ribbons blowing in the breeze over the spans on the ground that remain relatively undamaged by their fall.  It’s haunting in its self-destruction, and a testament to the pitfalls of a state that puts the search for the lowest bidder over the safety of its public.

Now the wait is on for the third span to come down.

Until next time . . .

Who God wants me to be

Lately I have been doing a lot of reflecting on my life.  There has been no significant event to bring on that reflection.  Sometimes you are just able to step back and see things for what they are.

I am a 37-year-old wife and mother.  I am an aunt and friend.  I am a dedicated employee and newly reborn Christian.  Am I now where I thought I would be by this age?  Nope.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a firefighter, neurosurgeon, truck driver, and in the military.  When I was a teenager I found my calling when I watched my dad practice for this bar dj’ing gigs.  I knew that radio was what I was meant to do.  I was a fine arts geek in school . . . band, choir, theatre . . . but my passion lie in my clarinet and saxophone.  I remember thinking that I would never be able to feel whole if I stopped playing music.

I look back at the friends I had when I was younger and vividly remember writing notes to them that were signed “best friends forever.”  You never think when you’re younger that the friends you had then would not be the same friends that you would  have when you are older.  Many of those friends from high school I don’t even talk to anymore.  They were people who were there for me at some of my hardest teenage times . . . break-ups with boyfriends, fights with other kids at school, struggles with classes.  I thought that we were building friendships that would last forever.  But when you are a kid it’s difficult to see past today much less see years into the future.

I remember my first love . . . Bill.  My world rose and fell on him.  He was adorable to my little high school mind.  He was tall, blonde, the most beautiful blue eyes, and very smart.  Everybody loved him.  He was my first boyfriend.  He was my first kiss.  He was the first one that encouraged my writing.  He was IT . . . my first love.  I thought that relationship would never ever end.

I haven’t seen or spoken to Bill since December, 1995.  I do know that he is father to a couple of children and married to a beautiful girl that we graduated with.  She has the same name as me.  It’s funny the way life works sometimes.

As a kid I had lofty dreams of where I would be when I got older.  I would be living in a nice house, driving nice cars, and doing very well off financially.  I would be married to the perfect man, and I would be a raging success in my career.  Basically I imagined my life as a fairy tale.  How does the saying go . . . “Want to make God laugh?  Tell him your plan.”

We can make all the plans we want, but only God knows where our life will go.  Only He knows what lies ahead of us on our road.

I do not live in a nice house.  I live in a two bedroom apartment.  I do not drive a nice car.  I drive a little Kia.  I am not well off financially.  I struggle every month to make the ends meet, and sometimes they don’t.  I am not married to a perfect man, but I am married to a man who is perfect for me.  I am not the raging success in my career that I pictured while I was in broadcasting school, but I have listeners that enjoy me being a part of their day.

Thanks to Facebook I still can keep up with many of the people who I was friends with as a kid.  But, honestly, if I deleted my Facebook account the loss of their constant updates about their trips to the gym and what they made for dinner would not diminish my life.  Why?  Because I don’t know those people anymore.  I am not the same person I was when I did know them.  Just as they are not the same person they were when they knew me.  We have grown and changed, and have not talked in years.  Facebook is just the last vestige of holding on to the past.

I just realized that I sound kind of bitter right now.  Bitter is not at all how I feel.  I feel so very thankful for the way my life has turned out so far.

2-and-a-half years ago I realized my dream of going to work for a station I had been hoping to work at for 10 years.  I have been married to a wonderful man for almost 10 years.  I have an amazing 8-year-old son that tries my patience but makes me love him more everyday.  I have a 14-year-old stepdaughter that is growing into a wonderful young woman.  In the past couple of years God has brought so many people into my life that have brought change in me that I could have never imagined when I was a kid.  I have met people who are like family to me.  I have more moms that I can count now.  I have friends that are more like brothers and sisters to me.  I have met people who have helped me find my way back to God, and people who have helped me grow in my relationship with Him.

A year ago I was on a path that was leading not only to my own self-destruction but to the destruction of my family also.  I was having an affair with one man, and just a few months away from meeting another man who I would actively try to seek an adulterous relationship with.  Did I plan on that when I was a kid?  Nope.  I was going to have the perfect marriage, remember?  But one year ago I was lying to my husband about where I was so that I could go to another man.

I am not saying that my life is perfect now.  It’s not perfect at all, but it is getting better.  I am getting better.  I have learned to have faith in God to lead me where he wants me.  I have learned that he will bring the people into my life that he knows that I need to be better for him.  I have let go of the adulterous relationship, but am still struggling to extricate myself from the other man I was actively pursuing.  But God will show me the way and give me the strength.

I had great plans for myself when I was younger.  But God had great plans for me from the minute I was born.  I am finally able to see that.

I have not taken the radio world by storm.  I am not rich or famous.  I don’t have a big, fancy house.  I don’t have a super nice car.  But I have a roof over my head, food on the table for me and my family, a job that I love, and the faith that God is giving me everything I need.

As I reflect on where I am in my life I look back and see how far I have come in the weeks, months, and years of my past.  I am not who I was then.  I am not who I will be in the future.  Who I am is who God wants me to be right now.

Are you who God wants you to be right now?

Until next time . . .

Breaking the writer’s rules

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I consider myself a writer.  It’s what I love to do.  It’s what I am good at.  I have been known to be sitting in a bar, doctor’s office, or in my car at a stoplight and have to break out the pad of paper because an idea just struck.  I’ve even been known to text poems to myself because I didn’t have a pad of paper to write it down.  If you consider yourself a writer also then you know exactly what I mean.  You never know when “THE BEST IDEA” will come to you.  When it does, though, everything else comes to a grinding halt until you can get the words out of your head.

I follow a several writing blogs, “like” a couple of different writing-related Facebook pages, and they all say, “make sure you write everyday.  Write, write, write every single day!!!!”  As a writer you are supposed to write, then write some more, write when you want to, and even write when you don’t want to, write when you have lots to say, and write when you have absolutely nothing to say.  I understand why you want to always be writing everyday . . . you have to keep that muscle worked out to stave off atrophy.  For some people to lose the ability to write would be to lose their most prominent voice.  Some people, myself included, just don’t know how to speak any other way than through their ink pen (which is ironic if you remember that I am a radio d.j.).

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But what about those days when you just really have absolutely nothing to write about?  Nothing inspired you.  Nothing stood out to spark your creativity.  You didn’t see anything that made you think, “that would make a great poem or short story.”

We’ve all, at some point or another, suffered from that evil demon known as writers block.  Any writer who says they have never had writers block is a liar.  Do not believe them.  I firmly believe that one can not call themselves a writer until they have fallen into the jaws of writers block and climbed back out.  The longest it lasted for me was 6 1/2 years.  I didn’t write a single poem, short story . . . nothing.

I don’t know if I just had nothing to say, or if I lost faith in my ability to get the words out.  I do know that I considered throwing out all of my notebooks, because they were just a taunting reminder of that part of me that had gone dormant.  Then one day the machine turned back on and in the 2 1/2 years since then I have written more than I ever did before the writer’s block.

I don’t write everyday.  I don’t always have something to say.  For all the times that inspiration has hit me like a ton of bricks there have been more days where the inspirational well is dry.  Yet I still consider myself a writer.

It’s been on my mind a lot lately that maybe I can’t call myself a writer because I don’t write everyday.  I don’t have a special area set aside just for writing.  I don’t devote hours of each and every day to my craft.  I don’t write to entertain or inform others, but instead I do it to empty myself of things that fill me up . . . joy, sadness, heartbreak, love, uncertainty . . .

Do you consider yourself a writer?

Why do you write?

I have an overflowing 3-ring purple binder at home that is full of all the poems and short stories that I have written since I was 14 years old.  It is the physical version of my heart and soul, and isn’t that what writing is about?  When you write aren’t you supposed to bear your heart and soul to the reader?  After all, how can the reader truly know how you want them to feel if you hold yourself back when writing that poem, short story, novel, or even that blog post.

I may not follow the “rules” when it comes to writing.  I don’t write everyday.  I don’t write, then write some more, then keep writing more after that.  I write until my overflowing cup is empty, and then that piece finds its way into my purple 3-ring binder.

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I write.  I write when I am inspired.  I write when my cup runneth over.  I pour myself out through my ink pen or computer keyboard.  I sit down and leave a part of myself on display on the paper in front of me.  I give myself to the reader to be judged.  Isn’t that what writing is all about?

So I ask again, are you a writer?

Dance (poem)

Take a step
Arms raised high
The music in your head
in tune to the tears of the sky
Take another step
Face to the clouds
Glistening skin
Nature’s music playing loud
Spinning, swaying
Make a splash
Let everything go
An unchoreographed dance
Carefree laughter
washes cares away
as you steal a moment
to dance in the rain
 
By:  Carrie Leigh
06.13.14

Wish (poem)

How I wish I could find a cave
And hide inside the stone
How I wish I could find a cave
Where I could be all alone
Where nobody could find me
Where I can run away
And I don’t have to deal with everyone else
Day after senseless day
How I wish I could disappear
Like time quickly gone past
How I wish I could disappear
And find blessed peace at last
Where all that’s wrong with everyone else
No longer finds fault in me
And I’m not fighting to apologize
For every single fucking thing
How I wish I could fly away
And leave everyone behind
How I wish I could fly away
And finally have peace of mind
Where nobody is nagging me
To do what they feel I must
Where their sense of entitlement
Means nothing more than dust
How I wish you’d all go away
Go away and leave me to my life
How I wish you’d all go away
I wish I could tell you all goodbye
You are all leeches
Draining my life from me
Drowning in your own unhappiness
My joy you can’t stand to see
How I wish I could find a cave
And there make my home
Never to deal with you again
Protected by the stone

By:  Carrie Leigh
06.11.12

Waiting (poem)

Waiting, waiting, waiting
That’s all we ever do
Waiting for a moment
Waiting for you
Waiting for a tomorrow
that may never come
Waiting to get older
says the waiting young
Waiting to get better
Waiting to slow down
Waiting to find happiness
behind the waiting frown
Waiting to grow up
Waiting to finally die
Waiting for the clouds to part
Waiting for goodbye
Waiting for the beginning
Waiting for the one
Waiting for the next moment
so your waiting will be done
Waiting for the right words
that you don’t know how to say
Waiting to not be waiting
your entire life away
 
By:  Carrie Leigh
06.10.11