The UNSPOKEN

Every day I wake up and put my glasses on. For most of my life, I’ve always felt as if they fit perfectly to my eye prescription, yet after a point in time, there were days everything seemed blurry and other days where it was all clear. My doctor told me my eyesight is constantly changing, as it is for many others. What I wasn’t aware of, though, was that this doesn’t just apply to my eyesight; there are 5 stages of grief and 5 different lenses I’ve tried. 

Lens 1: Denial. 

November 11th, 2020, I woke up, put my glasses on as always, and went downstairs. Everything was fine until the clock hit 10:25 AM. In one instance, it felt like my glasses had just fallen, ending up completely broken, and everything became blurry, yet I spent an hour trying to put it together. But glass doesn’t just break; it shatters. That was the exact moment my grandpa took his last breath. My hero, the man who helped raise me for the first 13 years of my life, was gone in a matter of seconds, and I saw it all happen right before my eyes. As my family was grieving, I was making phone calls. At 13 years old, I was the one to make the call that broke many of my family members. Yet not once did I say he had passed, and even in the days leading up to it, not once did I admit that he was dying. The whole time I thought to myself, “He’ll be okay; he’s strong. This can’t beat him.” but when the time came, he was gone. My grandpa was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer about 6 days before he passed, which left us just those last 6 days to keep him comfortable at home. 6 days, 144 hours, 8640 minutes, yet not once did I think to say goodbye because to me it wasn’t going to be over in 6 days. It wasn’t all just going to disappear. I had always kept a spare pair of glasses, but my prescription had changed. The spare would no longer be of use. In my mind, he would be okay, and we would have time to make more memories together, but that didn’t happen. The world moved on, and life went on, yet for weeks, I thought he’d come home from work at any moment. So I held onto that; I held onto the fact that my eyesight would be fine and I wouldn’t have to do anything, but he never came home, and my eyesight worsened. 

Lens 2: Anger. 

A week later, I got my new pair. My family and I were talking about how leading up to November, my grandpa had gotten multiple medical tests done. This led to the realization that there was no way not a single scan didn’t show the mass in his lungs or the way his cancer had spread throughout his body. Just when I had thought getting a new pair of glasses to fit my new eye prescription was a good idea, I found another pair that fit. It turns out the spare was just super old. The thought of it being right there the whole time and how I just missed it, which wasted so much time, frustrated me in ways I couldn’t explain. 

42 days later, I had my new glasses on, and just when I thought my eyes were fine, the glasses fell yet again. Everything felt like a blur. My family lost another loved one, but this time to Covid-19. She was talking and saying her goodbyes just 10 minutes before they unplugged the machine that was supplying her with oxygen and keeping her alive. This again showed me that glasses are fragile, break easily, and aren’t meant to last forever. It wasn’t just a one time thing, but as people get older and sicker, it gets more challenging for them to fight it off. First cancer, then covid. All that went on in my mind was the anger I felt against these diseases. There were days I’d snap at the people I loved, not because I was mad at them but because I was frustrated at something that I couldn’t just go and yell at. I broke more glasses than I would have ever wanted, which meant I had to go days without them. Things often worsen when you don’t care for something that needs attention and help, just as my eyesight did. 

Lens 3: Bargaining.

At this point, I’d wasted so much on constant replacements and new pairs that finding a good fit for my eyes just seemed impossible. Nothing ever fit right, and made it all clear. No matter how many tests, it was always a little blurry. I saw myself constantly thinking about the “what if” statements, whether it was, “What if I hadn’t gone so many days without glasses?” or “What if I had just taken better care of it all?”. I blamed a lot of it on myself, but I also had this terrible anxiety that I’d continue breaking pairs and wasting them. “What if I didn’t even deserve to have them in the first place? What if I didn’t deserve to be able to see it all?” This all went on in my head, not for days, but weeks. I constantly wondered if there was anything I could or should have done. Glasses are hard to keep up with, they’re hard to clean and maintain, and I constantly pushed myself down, thinking I never did it well enough, but in reality, the whole time, I had been doing everything I could, and it wasn’t ever the uncleanliness that caused it to break. For many days, I looked back and thought, “I should’ve said I love you more. I should’ve done more for him.” I constantly second-guessed myself and everything I did for my grandpa. This wasn’t ever because someone told me I should; it was simply because he wasn’t here for me to do anything else about it. Nothing seemed right, no matter how many pairs I had tried in the past; something was always missing.  

Lens 4: Depression. 

Every day as my eyesight got worse, I was reminded that I couldn’t see as clearly as everyone else, and there was nothing I could do about it then. Every day brought something new, something I missed out on, something I didn’t experience the same way. I couldn’t decide whether it was simply because I wasn’t meant to or because I just ruined it for myself. I can’t exactly tell my glasses not to break when they fall, but I knew I could take precautions to make sure they didn’t break. However, knowing that the glasses I didn’t have a problem with for many years of my life before this would just fall one day is something I couldn’t possibly imagine knowing. Everything was unexpected, and I couldn’t prepare myself for what was happening. Every ounce of hope in my body left when I realized that glass wasn’t the only thing that shattered that day. 

Lens 5: Acceptance. 

There were times when I felt like I had found the perfect pair and times when I thought I could see it all clearly, but then I would just be disappointed again. It took me a long time to figure out that glasses were meant to change; you don’t just use one pair for the rest of your life, and that’s because your eye prescription is constantly evolving. It took me a long time to realize that I wasn’t the problem; the way I was going about it was. That’s when I found an excellent medical facility specifically for patients with eye problems. It’s like they knew me before they even examined me. These doctors helped me get a new pair, and every time it slightly loosened, they helped tighten it. They didn’t let it fall, but in case it ever did, I had a spare ready, a correct spare. The people who walked into my life during that time taught me the importance of healing but didn’t let it shy away from the importance of grieving. It took me time to accept what had happened, and it still often hits, but once you realize that the glasses are meant to change, it helps fit everything into a clearer picture.

Grief is universal, everyone experiences it at some point, yet it’s experienced in different ways and through different perspectives. My story is unique to my own life and my vision. It’s a constantly changing lens, but being aware of that has helped me find the right one and push through each time. Glass doesn’t just break; it shatters, and although that same glass is hard to put back together, it isn’t the glass that gives me my vision, it’s the lens.

by cherrypie 

she is my muse, 

my inspiration, 

the suns reflection on a lake at sunset

 im envious of the sun that kisses her skin every day

 i loathe the water she drinks 

wishing that it was me, 

longing for her touch.

she truly is the one thing that brings me joy

 she is the light at the end of my tunnel

 everytime i hear her voice

  i cant help but to yearn to hear it again 

and again

  sending me into spiral

  of lust, of love, 

of desire

  anything just to see her

  touch her

  love her

  be with her 

  in the end

  its.

  always.

  just.

  her.

tradition, tradtion

by Angela Ke 

He told me it was required,

To be a part of their show. 

I needed to earn their honor,

Or else my request would be told no. 

So I did it,

Went into the Old Man’s house. 

Stole one of his baseballs, 

Before the Rottweiler pounced. 

But when I emerged,

He wasn’t there. 

I turned all around, 

And felt myself getting scared. 

Not even Susie or Charlie, 

Not even Mary Louise Dane!

Just a white flashing car,

Coming up Treeville lane. 

For the sake of tradition! 

He yelled with his fist in the air. 

Throw us the baseball! 

Susie flipped her golden hair. 

They watched from the street

As the cops came out. 

I put my hands up, 

Only to be cuffed down. 

Trespassing and stealing! 

Charlie shouted from the curb.

I saw him with my own eyes,

Mary Louise chimed in her own blurb. 

I was stuffed into the car, 

The baseball rolled out of my hands. 

I saw their glinting eyes, 

Shining bright like a tin can. 

For the sake of tradition,

He had yelled with his teeth glinting white.

How stupid of me,

To have thought of it so right.

bitterness

by Angela Ke 

We watched them two fight, we grew up in spite of it

I was ashamed

It made us feel faint, going insane

Immediate pain

The nurse came, the silence hit the window

My tears were weeping

They kept on yelling, their faces crying

So much to hate

I don’t know them, I never knew them

Get me away

I responded with a smile, through tears of glass

Just make it pass

The chest constricts, sight goes red

My boiling blood won’t end

I wanted to leave, I wanted to stay

I wanted to save her from living with what made life like death

The mouth goes slack, a straight line that won’t bend

When he talks to me, it’s like a ping on glass

I see it, would I receive it

Damage is silence, I use it like ammunition

Leverage is cold, my contempt was hot

I used it all to hate you into fruition

The fault goes to you, injustice’s taste of its own 

My disrespect was for a reason

How can you be so wise, and so false

How many times did we tell you, even when it was gentle

You just go back to what you know hurts

Did you know it hurt 

Did you know you hurt us?

I would sit outside your bedroom door and ask for water

Just to interrupt you

Emotion made me weak, but would emotion move you?

Rules don’t apply to indifference like yours

Pride coated, hardened into a sheen

It’s like men enjoy showing off their scars

Your hands are too close, your breath is too loud

An elephant in the room that’s staring at you

Your laugh made me cry, like it was your alibi 

Like it was some kind of sacrifice 

Take things seriously was all I did

Because I wanted you to do it too

Did you know I was serious 

Did you know it hurt

Did you know you hurt us?

All your talk was about a child, she grew up

Sweet to bitter, warm to cold, burning hot

You did that, it was because of you

Anomalies, aversion, why do you think

I just want to leave

She grew up, did that hurt you?

You didn’t change, what did you want me to do?

I won’t be like you

i used to think i was perfect.

by Krista Fleming 

I used to think I was perfect. 

I wouldn’t shudder when I walked past the mirror, nor panic on the day of the test; I used to try whatever I wanted because I didn’t care whether I succeeded or not. 

I played piano poorly, with only the slightest understanding of how to read the notes but an imagination of how it would sound when my fingers slid across the keys like the melody was being born for the first time. I skated laps around the ice rink, laughing and smiling as I went from twirl to jump to talking to my coaches. 

My mother used to joke that it took all my concentration just to sit still while I was talking, and I guess that summed me up pretty well. I was loud because it’s who I was, because rattling off another joke or telling my parents what happened at school seemed like it was the best job in the world. 

School wasn’t a chore, then. It was fun and it was easy. I wouldn’t study much, but I’d say I did and I would get some of the highest marks of the class. I would talk to my friends and laugh, not a care in the world as we raced from that yellow slide to the swing that always squeaked a little louder than the others. 

There was a vibrancy that came from my youth, from my starry eyed gaze and my dreams of being whatever it was my mood settled on for the day. 

But as time went on, whatever vibrant feelings that fluttered through my chest began to disappear. Those dreams I made up in my head of being some famous movie star seemed to die, and the distant days I would dream about began to feel as though they would never come. 

I haven’t touched a piano in years because I’m afraid of people seeing me learn. If I play the wrong keys and someone is sitting there, what would they think? Would they laugh? Would they roll their eyes? Would they even notice? Or would they just think it was another one of the horrid sounds I was making with the piano I used to love? 

I quit skating, too, because there was a fear of not living up to everyone else that prevented me from tying. 

I quit new things all together. 

My mother still makes jokes about me being loud, and that part hasn’t changed. I still scream out every desperate thought that eats me alive because the silence will crush me if I’m not there to break it. My energy is more contained now, but I like to think it’s still there, lurking in the pages I write and in the constant beating of my heart. 

My validation all comes from my grades, and even a 98 will start to make my head pound. I study and do homework for so long that it feels like my fingers have become lead and my head might explode with the things I cram into it. My friends and I still laugh and talk, but there’s something in my mind that whispers it won’t last, and I can’t get those thoughts to go away 

And I don’t know when it started, when my hope began to disappear, but if I could go back there and hold that little girl I used to be and whisper it’s okay, you don’t have to be everything you wanted to be, then maybe the world wouldn’t seem as terrifying. Maybe my mirror wouldn’t hurt to look in, and my grades wouldn’t feel as big. 

I used to think I was perfect, and I was better for it, too.

this is life

A comparison poem of two voices between the older and younger versions of oneself.

Life and Death walk into a bar,

And of course, it’s the end of the story —

The beginning of a joke. 

Life tells Death 

“It is not yet over”

And Death tells life

“The ending’s begun.”

And so, I walk into the bar.

And so, I walk into the bar.

Old and weary, with nothing to prove.

Young and ready, with something to prove. 

And so we meet

Mirror images of each other,

Reflections of different times. 

Same nose, 

But hers is scarred, 

Same night,

But she sees stars. 

Young and Old walk into the bar,

And we act like we’ve told a joke —

Almost a story.

I am young, about to start living, 

I have lived, waiting for the ending.

She is everything I will become. 

She is everything I almost was.

You and I walk into a bar,

And I take a seat,

And I stay standing. 

We trade stories.

Truly, they are harmless little things:

Things I’ve forgotten, 

Things I’ll one day know.

And the bartender comes,

And he asks who we are, 

And we say:

“I have run the race”

“I am fighting the fight”

I am tired.

And so I ask “Does it ever get easier?”

And so I say “It never feels easier.”

But this is life. 

“I have carried on.”

“I will carry on.”

This is life.

“I will not give up.” 

“I’ve yet to give up.”

This is life. 

“And I have tried.”

“And I will try.”

This is life,

And it’s not over yet.

This is life.

by Krista Fleming