Poetry, Prose and other thoughts

When many people look at me
I know what some of them tend to see
Born on crutches that I am
Born on crutches, not like them.
What they see in me is pain
And sometimes sadness too
They are sorry I cannot do
Things that they do everyday
Born on crutches that I am.
Born on crutches, not like them.

Born on crutches that I am.
Born on crutches not like them.
But what those people tend to see
Really is not truly me.
The pain and sadness that they feel
Isn't really mine.
Born on crutches that I am
But pain and sadness belong to them.

Ramona Harvey

Unseen Spectator

I am the unseen spectator
Sitting on a bench
I sit in the corner on a bench
I sit in the corner pushed out
of the way
and in the corner I will stay
quiet and lonely and out of the way
for I am the lonely spectator
sitting on a bench

I am the unseen spectator
Sitting on the bench
I sit in the corner on a bench
I sit and watch other people
run and jump and laugh and play
but in the corner I will stay
quiet and lonely and out of the way
for I am the lonely spectator
sitting on a bench.

Ramona Harvey

Deep Wounds, Quiet House

At night when it is calm, and quiet and all the lights in
my house are out, just before I drift off to sleep I wonder...
I wonder about about my past, the good times and the bad.
Sometimes when it is quiet my defenses callapse and the pains
and sadnesses of my life, and the agony I feel because the
lack of understanding of other people overwhelm me, as I
begin to cry.
Not the silent cry that happens deep down inside everytime
someone laughs, or points a finger, or stares at me funny.
But a cry that stems from the pain and sadness I all to often
feel, but can rarely stand to share. It is a cry amplified
by the quiet night, but muffled by the fear that someone
else might come and hear.
So even then...when I am all alone I struggle not to cry
and at this time I miserably fail...
no matter how hard I try.

Ramona Harvey