Sam Alexandra Rose

Author: writersamr

  • Rebirth

  • bouncing

    Yes, okay, I am
    emotionally vulnerable –
    and what?

    I am tired.
    Tired from bouncing from happily
    oblivious to
    diving headfirst into this minefield;
    from straining to ignore this
    and just being,
    to taking ownership and weathering it and
    raising awareness of it. I am tired
    and I don’t know which way I will
    bounce next.

  • The problem with language

    That’s the problem with language; sometimes you can be saying the right words but they don’t mean the right thing. Like an idiom or a turn of phrase when you’re learning a second language. Or even when you’re speaking perfect English, or whatever your first language is. You don’t have to be an amateur to say the wrong thing even when you think you’re using the right words.

  • Guest Blog Post At IHC.com

    I had another guest blog posted, this time over at IHadCancer.com, musing about the positive and negative effects cancer has had on my life (yes, there are one or two positives!).

    Check it out here:

    http://www.ihadcancer.com/h3-blog/03-21-2015/What-Would-My-Life-Be-Like-Without-Cancer

    Thank you for reading. 🙂

    people keep saying
    how strong I am and
    I’m slowly starting
    to believe them.

  • Your distraction

    your distraction turned into the nightmare you’d been running from

    (and I’m sorry for that.)

  • best shot

    I don’t think I can do it.
    I don’t think I can be the hero,
    the writer who overcomes
    everything to share her wisdom
    and support with other individuals.
    I can only be the writer who
    attempts therapy through
    self-indulgent poetry and writes
    articles only through a drunken haze,
    thoughts ablaze
    with all the ways I’ve failed.
    Add this to the list, this barely
    started wander into the abyss of
    self-help, so difficult I can’t even
    help myself. I gave it my
    best shot but my best shot was
    still such a long way off.

  • Watering Weeds

    I don’t know if I can rake this all up again.
    It’s too close to the surface as it is
    and requires no watering to grow,
    there’s no need to hoe, and the seeds
    were sown so long ago and so deeply
    burrowed – I am borrowing memories
    that never run out, I go back in time
    every time I write a single line and
    it’s scaring me so much right now
    I just can’t.

    I don’t know if I can do this Lynch syndrome memoir/self help book thing. I think it might be too hard. I’m going to try anyway, but I’m afraid I’m committing myself to something that is going to be more of an emotional struggle than it’s worth. I will press on. Just not tonight. Writing is hard for so many different reasons.

  • Lynch Syndrome book

    I’m writing a book about Lynch syndrome because there are like, none out there for people just diagnosed. I’ve started on it with a kind of self-help bent, but it already sounds too clinical. I think I’ll go more down the memoir route – still helpful, but putting my bad memories to good use. I think something personal will be more empathetic and appropriate.

  • Grave Shopping

    Strolling through the cemetery,
    we’re not buying, we’re just
    window shopping, casually planning
    which stone to carve our vitriol into.
    I like the simplicity of white marble
    but you prefer the gothic styles, black
    and grey swirls reflecting how death
    really is – the nothing offered to
    everyone involved. So much nothing.

    You consider an obelisk, something that
    exudes a sense of grandeur you
    never quite achieved in life. All
    these years we lethargically aspired to
    what we thought we should be, but we
    never really tried at all – we just idly watched
    as our ideal selves hovered vaguely in the
    distance. I like to think I aimed for something
    but I never had much hand-eye co-ordination.
    We kneel in the soil and you scratch
    our names into the dirt with a stick.
    Illuminated by the moon, this is
    the closest we’ll come to death today.

  • George Ezra

    You may think that he’s a demolition expert
    When he’s finished with your self-esteem
    It may be true we all need knocking down a few
    Come find shelter or your shelter with me, with me 
    – George Ezra, Breakaway

    I love George Ezra’s album, but you’re wrong, George. I didn’t need knocking down a few. I needed building back up.

    Don’t mind me; it’s been a bad week. I’m feeling sensitive to like, everything. So. Maybe next week will be better.