Falling Asleep Standing Up

My cat Princess sleeping

My cat princess sleeping

Sleep – the bane of my life.

It brings bitter dreams and terrifying images
It robs me of precious hours and quiet time.
It creeps into my body despite my desire to fight it.

Sleep – the treasure buried in the future.

It lingers in the back of my mind throughout the day.
It calls to me like a siren to a ship.
It engulfs me in its soft embrace and tender whispers.

Sleep – some days, I swear I could do it anywhere:
Standing up,
Upside down,
On a bus,

Appeasing the Invisible: A Poem

Surrendering a Dream

It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else. – Erma Bombeck

Appeasing the Invisible

Nothing has more power than the invisible.
It pulls at me, urging my fingers to type on the keyboard,
Hissing in my ear to play with words like play-dough,
Snickering at the plot hole that sucks my story into a black hole.

Should I ignore the invisible?
Some enclose themselves in a steel balloon.
No fiery critics arrow can puncture their flight or plunge them to earth.
However, humans cannot breathe in the elevation of these works.

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Me in front of Buckingham Palace

Me standing in front of Buckingham Palace

Here is a poem that I wrote one day. It is not polished but came straight from my heart. Hopefully it will touch you and move you to think. The themes are a bit morbid, I know. However, that is not always a bad thing. There is great suffering in our world, and we should admit that. Then we can strive to bring about healing.


By Anna Rose Meeds

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Finals Week

My little brother Mario around the time this poem was set

My little brother Mario around the time this poem was set

Every once in a while, I enjoy writing poetry. This is an old poem that I wrote when thinking back on the end of my first semester at college. At this point, my eating disorder was running rampant, causing me to take the next year off of school.

Although this was written about a year and half ago, this piece captures a bit of what I felt about my eating disorder. Looking back on this pivotal moment of my illness, I see how far I have come in recovery. Thus, sharing it seemed like a good idea.

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Haiku of Recovery Thanks

Haiku of Recovery Thanks

Haiku of Recovery Thanks

One of the first types of literature I encountered as a child was poetry.  Part of school for us girls was memorizing limericks and classic works.  When I bored of reading the words of others, I scribbled my own works in floral printed notebooks.  Although certainly not masterpieces, my poems gave me a sense of accomplishment and release from daily stresses.

By the age of 8, I had written many poems and read even more.  As I encountered more literature, however, my passion for poetry waned.  After all, there is only so much that one can say in a few lines.  Daring adventures, secret romances, and majestic victories replaced detailed descriptions of nature, emotions, and solitude.  Books became my escape and friendship while poetry dulled second-rate material.

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The Mystery of a Healthy Me

The Mystery of a Healthy Me

A healthy outside starts from the inside. – Robery Urich

If someone were to ask me to define myself, one of the first adjectives that would pop into my head would be “sick.”  Since before I can remember, I have struggled with physical, mental, and emotional illnesses.  However, I went largely untreated until the age of twelve.  Right after my birthday, my family finally realized that something about me was not normal.  For months, doctors and their assistants interrogated me with awkward questions, performed frightening tests, and stared me down.  Former worries I had about being abnormal were confirmed as I had an MRI scan, ultrasound, analyzing for schizophrenia, allergy shots, speech therapy, medication prescriptions, occupational therapy, and much more.

Now, years later, I still struggle with my health.  Sure, my asthma and allergies are much better but I still struggle with depression, sleep, head aches, self-injurious behavior, and anxiety.  Other diagnoses have been added to my list including Aspergers, Anorexia Nervousa, PTSD, and possibly OCD.  When I think about this list of problems, I mourn for my poor patient family.  Why did they have to have child like me?  Will I ever make it up to them?

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