As a patient, you are constantly asked to investigate the body, to report on yourself, and to narrate your findings: How are you feeling? What is your pain on a scale of one to ten? Any new symptoms? Do you feel ready to go home? I understood now why so many writers and artists, while in the thick of illness, became memoirists. It provided a sense of control, a way to reshape your circumstances on your own terms, in your own words. “That is what literature offers–a language powerful enough to say how it is,” Jeanette Winterson wrote. “It isn’t a hiding place. It is a finding place.”– Suleika Jaouad, Between Two Kingdoms
“I’m gonna survive this one too”.
A real friend…
‘Put your hand on your heart…’ A little Atticus poetry today!
“I was patient enough…”
@poetryofdhiman featured on the blog today!
Trees are poems…