Am changing by the minute, my heart recognizes, my body hides it. Crushed I’ve exceeded my limit. The mind knows, but not my appearance. I forget my pain with medication, can’t give an accurate account. Some believe I’m a hypochondriac, Ignorance I can’t fix but forgive. Autoimmune diseases complicated. Tensions awaken distress, beautiful on the outside, saddened within. The younger me we ought to be remember.
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.
Beauty Careful as I got, paying heed to the sculpture With such finesse, and an eye of a vulture Every peculiarity went on to depict a story Incarnating legends, of the war that was gory Over the period beauty stood
Light a sharpie so bright shines on beauty seen through decay. Both beauty and decay form a duality of darkness and luminosity. Beauty is a love that can provide for its reality against dismay. Just as tradition is a security
REMEMBERED If I could remember the day, the when, the where we last met, all so easy yesterday with a picture framed and set. Within my head, always there available whenever wanted, a picture kept, a memory fair inside me