Each Loss Lessens Me

By Corinne Konrad and Corinne Cygan-Goigoux

Each Loss Lessens Me is an introspective journey that delves into the haunting realm of loss, tracing its enduring shadows through the tapestry of life.

 

These poems navigate the spectrum of loss, touching upon themes of abandonment, childhood grief, the pangs of aging, and death. It also confronts the often-overlooked losses that accompany non-neurotypical experiences, unraveling the intricacies of misophonia, anxiety, insomnia, and beyond. It offers insights into atypical perspectives, exploring the loss of serenity, the struggle of finding a functional role in society, and the absence of consistent social support networks due to misunderstood behaviors in moments of stress. Yet, it is not all shadows here; the collection is also interspersed with humor, growth, and joy.

 

Each Loss Lessens Me is a compelling testament to the resilience of the human spirit, an exploration of the depths of loss, and a celebration of the atypical perspectives that add unique colors to the canvas of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corinne Konrad
• Release date: Feb 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224225699

Book preview

Social and Societal Situations

Decorative element on section pages.

Through Your Ages

Born—never seen, new

is your virtue.

When young, you are praised for youth

as if you had won it with wit.

Your beauty is marked

by the lack of wrinkles and grey hairs.

For that, you are adored and worshiped.

Of all lovers, you are The Love.

Soon you will shine, not dazzle;

be admired, not adored.

On you, pleased eyes pause

but soon journey, distracted,

to a now-younger dazzle.

You, of all lovers, are a love,

second choice.

Mid-aged, you are no longer

the dazzle nor shine,

but background.

You are admired for your mind,

not admired.

Valued for wisdom, not valued.

Your skin, a growing bag, hangs and sags.

You are no longer the love of any lovers,

rather you are a settlement.

Aged, you are no longer seen as you.

Your face is not a face,

smile, not a smile,

but pulled down to a frown

sunk in an ocean of wrinkles.

You are not admired, nor adored

but accused as if you had lusted after age⁠—

as if you had ironed every wrinkle,

painted each hair grey,

injected Oreos into your waist, thighs, rump.

You are not settlement,

rather not wanted.

For you are not seen, only your age.

Uniformity and Conformity

sound like they would be bossy, boring twins

who would devote their lives to:

leveling mountains and canyons into plains

to make an even terrain,

plucking flowers out of meadows

to stop people from wasting time admiring them,

micro-chiseling snowflakes

to be identical,

wringing the colors out