Burden - Blog Posts
I could not agree more! You get it. Sometimes (often I feel) being disabled does make you a burden and that's okay. There should be nothing wrong or shameful about that - it is simply stating facts and acknowledging reality.
as much as i appreciate the intent of the “being disabled doesn’t make you a burden” type posts, i don’t really agree. a lot of times being disabled DOES make you a burden
& i think that maybe we should try to shift focus to the fact that even if you’re a huge burden on society and can contribute absolutely nothing, you’re still a human being who deserves to exist.
like. there’s nothing morally wrong with being a burden on other people. you aren’t a bad person for needing to rely on others. you’re allowed to be a burden & disabled people who are burdens on others, i love you
You see
I see the scars
It’s a talent for me,
To find you at your weakest
And bring you up from your knees,
It’s scary but Please accept the journey.
I can’t make you choose
I promise I’ll show you the other shoes,
Just give me one minute
It’s all I need
I’ll show you the light
On the other side .
I want to see you smile,
I will enlighten your soul,
I promise I’ll keep Your heart undercover
Not like any other.
I won’t leave until
Your complete
I’ll take the pain
And turn it into rain
I’ll take the anger
And turn it into thunder
I’ll empty your brain
And make it my burden
Because I can carry that
If I know your out of danger.
@trueemotions91
Sorry...
Sorry for being a burden.
Sorry for being clingy.
Sorry for being such a mess.
Sorry for having no self control.
Sorry for being insensitive.
Sorry for being thougtless.
Sorry for being heartless.
Sorry for being unempathic.
Sorry for overestimating.
Sorry for not grasping cues.
Sorry for being emotional.
Sorry for overthinking.
Sorry for being distant.
Sorry for being manic.
Sorry for being depressed.
Sorry for being arrogant.
Sorry for hating myself.
Sorry for bothering you.
Sorry for dissapointing you.
Sorry for making excuses.
Sorry for being suicidal.
Sorry for telling you about it.
Sorry for staying.
Sorry for opening up.
Sorry for saying all that.
Sorry for apologizing.
...I'm sorry.
Merry Whump of May - Day 8
“Did you read the fine print?”
Circle
Blinded
Field
(original characters/story)
@themerrywhumpofmay
“It’s the only way to know what happened here.” Rex shed his jacket and tossed it on the ground. The sun beat down upon them, searing and merciless. The cicadas sang and sang. With every weak breath of wind, the grass around them sighed and fluttered. The field was empty save for Rex, Stockton, Burden, and the last survivor.
Rex rolled up his sleeves. “Stay back, all of you, until it’s done.”
“And how will we know when it’s done?” Stockton picked up Rex’s jacket.
Rex didn’t answer and walked towards the last survivor.
Tied to a stake in the middle of the field was a young woman. Was, a young woman. She had died three days ago and laid in the hot sun until now, and it showed. Rex had tracked her down and arrived too late. Always too late.
The last survivor rasped and stood on unsteady legs as Rex approached. He needed to know what she knew. Tears stung Rex’s eyes as he drew closer.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I’m really sorry. We tried. We tried.”
The last survivor’s skin was bloated and dark with pooled blood. Where there were once eyes, dark, crusted sockets stared out at Rex. Rex looked up and saw the vultures responsible still circling overhead. Every so often, one flew close enough to noonday sun to blot it out. A shadow covering the field. Ragged and brief.
Rex knelt as close as he dared.
He had searched the minds of humans before and had become good at it. It was easy to read people, to open up their minds and read their innermost thoughts. But reading the dead? Something about it turned his stomach. It wasn’t the putrid flesh before him, or clicking teeth, but the act of uniting his mind with the dead.
Rex hadn’t told Stockton or Burden, but he wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t kill him.
But he had promised to try. This last survivor, survivor no more, had known something important to their cause. And he owed it to her to try. He had to try.
Rex took the dead woman’s face in his hands and gently pushed the limp hair away from her sightless eyes. She tried to bite him. The bloody foam that oozed from her mouth and nose ran over his fingers, lukewarm and slimy. The stake and her bound arms held her back. Rex closed his eyes. The sun was harsh above and behind his eyelids he saw only red.
The last survivor rasped and gurgled.
Rex took a deep breath. He began to read.
A moment.
He began to scream.
The ground vibrated, shuddering and shaking. Waves in the field. A flock of birds flee, black dots against the pale, hot sky. The grass around Rex and the last survivor begins to die. It shriveled. It turned black. A circle of rotting darkness. Then, nothing. Only death.
Rex felt someone stroking his hair.
“You’re safe.” It was Burden’s voice. And Burden’s hand.
The rotting smell of the corpse still lingered in Rex’s senses, but Burden’s scent was chasing it away.
Rex shifted a little. His muscles ached and his limbs shook with the effort. His head was resting on someone’s lap. Probably Burden.
“You’re safe?” Rex rasped. His throat was dry and sticky. He coughed.
“Yeah. Stocky’s getting you water. Hang on.”
Rex opened his eyes and saw nothing.
His heart clenched.
Rex closed his eyes again, braced himself, and opened them. Nothing.
“Uh, Burden?” Rex reached out towards the hand in his hair. He gripped Burden’s rough, calloused fingers.
“Yeah?”
“I can't see.”
Rex felt Burden become still and tense. Then Burden squeezed Rex’s hand.
A sigh. “Did you not read the fine print on those powers you got?”
Rex’s laugh was shaky. He felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye and trail down his cheek, pooling in his ear. “No, not really. Didn’t come with a manual, you know?”
“It'll come back.”
“Maybe. But I got the information. She saw where they went.” Rex didn’t think too hard about what he had seen when reading the dead woman. He had gotten what they needed and that was that.
Burden pulled Rex a little closer. “You shouldn’t have done this.” Burden spoke into Rex’s hair, his breath warm on Rex’s scalp.
Rex closed his eyes. He didn’t need them open.
I have drafts of poetry in my phone I won’t ever finish
Words I started writing when times were different
I won’t ever get to finish them because everything turned out different than the thoughts of the past anticipated it
Not better, not worse
But different
So I now have drafts of poetry in my phone that I can’t finish
Because out of all the “what ifs”, fate chose the one I was most scared of
And the words that were written in the past are to delicate to be burdened by destiny’s cruel choices of today