I cried me a river many times. Mostly for my children. The daughter I wanted protected. For my son with big ideas, stranger whose world collapsed. After my brother and a few friends died knowing their role in my life, I cried me another river. Some said pray and I did, questioned God’s sovereignty ‘n cried me another river. When I asked for change life remained the same. I wished I kept my struggle hidden. decided to not ask again. But cried a few rivers.
A Registered nurse, wife, mother, poetic writer and United Way volunteer.Born in Belize, migrated to New York at age eighteen. After studying nursing, worked as an emergency room until starting a family.Having both natural and chosen children, it was the emotional struggles of the chosen ones that gave birth to many of her poems.Ruthieg believes that when all is forgotten or ignored, expressive words linger or get heard. That it is important for the hurt and wounded to have a voice, for that purpose, many of my poems were written.
Don’t tell on me, but yes, I can’t breathe no more, This smile concealing my frightened soul, I can’t take no more, Don’t tell on me; have lost myself in all these, I’m just a walking robot, no one sees
Everything seems to be silent but my ears not, although world sleep but my mind’s not. Memory once rejoiced like a sun’s heat now turns winter cold, before isolation was a luxury to me but now it’s not. What happens
I leave this world as ignorant as when I came into it, my hands empty, my heart full. I have no answers, only questions, no certainties, only doubts. The fear of death has been my most loyal companion, the cry of
A misbelief breaks into rags. Still I dream of some gods on black pages piecing together the words of light. The rains come in the cage of tears, voicelessly. Striated muscles of splintered faith go to cramps birthing the avatar