Broken, parts one and two, and must see video. Viewer discretion advised.

I wrote this post a few days ago. My sister wrote the most beautiful response, which I’ve included here. Please read and watch the video and go to dyingwithstyle.org to find ways that you can help me change the world. Most importantly, share. I need the world to see the truth. Thank you.

Broken_Toys_by_Faryndreyn

Broken toys, some of us are.

Damaged bodies, riddled with scars.

Caught forever in between

A normal life, and something obscene.

Atrophied legs, unwholesome parts,

Distract from the beauty of our hearts.

But who cares about that anyway?

Life is a game, we are forced to play.

It doesn’t give the broken a break.

It doesn’t care that it made a mistake.

It makes some perfect I suppose

To rub it in the cripples’ nose.

You’ll never be beautiful

Never be free

To be what others can easily be.

But I have a secret that life doesn’t know.

My brokenness has helped me grow.

Strong enough to overcome

The tormenting parts of life for some.

Some like me who wake in pain.

Who fight each day to simply remain

Some form of life in this glamorous place.

Where precious treasure is a pretty face.

I’m stronger now, as time will tell.

Strength was forged in the flames of hell.

I’ll never be like all the rest,

But I can still be my broken best.

A Sister’s Response to Broken

A sister’s response to “Broken”:
A broken toy does not describe my sister.
She is a strong and fearless one.
Always thoughtful of others and patient.
Calm, silly, beautiful, fun.
As girls while I was sleeping in,
I’d wake to find her gone.
She would be in the garden with our mother.
Rising early to help before dawn.
Kittens all around us in the country,
When a new litter arrived which one would she pick?
While I was choosing the cutest or strongest,
The runt or deformed she would choose just as quick.
Running, singing and dancing were our pastimes.
We were also known to write a jingle or play.
Climbing up in the barn, walking to the windmill,
Rising early to catch the sunrise, burying ourselves in hay.
She was my counselor, friend and accomplice.
When I learned to drive where would we not go?
Adventures were just around the corner,
Always on the move, through hail, rain or snow.
Did you know she was an actress?
She walked the catwalk in her day.
She went to college, hiked trails, climbed walls,
Rode horses, played sports, what more can I say?
You see, my sister was not always a cripple
But I do not choose that word.
MS has weakened her body,
Her thoughts of herself may be blurred.
But I know the heart of my sister.
And I know the pain she bears.
She is not broken, unlovely or cursed,
Suffering scars, weakness, immobility and tears.
There were no mistakes made I know this to be true.
She is a mother, daughter, sister, friend,
She may fight each day to simply remain
But she knows the truth in the end.
The “unbroken” toys are not always as loved
And she knows that her pain will not last,
Miracles happen every day
Second chances have not passed.
She will get through this and though life is a test,
One thing is for certain: God always knows BEST!

Advertisements