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GREY BORDERS

Sarah Burgess

Sarah Burgess was born in November ’86 and has lived in St. Catharines all her life. At the age of 13, the back tire on her bike was hit by an oncoming train, leaving her with severe brain damage, the inability to vocally communicate, spasticity, and numerous other difficulties. Despite there challenges, she has the courage of a lion, and the heart of a saint. Sarah has three previously published chapbooks “Voice” (Grey Borders Books, 2012), “When Will My Reflection Show Who I Am Inside?” (Young Artists of Niagara Falls, 2014), “Phlebotomized Heart” (Grey Borders Books, 2015) and The Mule and the Bitch (Grey Borders Books, 2016).

Previously published by Grey Borders Books:

Voice (2012)

Phlebotomized Heart (2015)

The Mule and The Bitch (2016)

 

from Prospectives (2018)

Deep

You got me wrong
I told you right
Yet you still assume, so
I let you get me wrong
Think what you want
Those whom assume,
without allowing your own enlightenment
For nobody knows who has experienced what!
Breaks my heart, the words I, write come from the heart,
Deep within my soul!

Is it good enough for you?
Too real, too personal, too deep for you, still?
Am I? Maybe,
just maybe I am deeper than most
are able to completely comprehend understand
Will I ever be understood?
What more are you waiting for?

Like a sour key, what tastes good to me may be repulsive for you, yet still I choose to challenge your taste buds to be like your perspective, your outlook, your drive…
You look at me, do you see what I see?
How can I alter ones standpoint?
My mission in life

 

 

from Phlebotomized Heart (2015)

Dream
There once was a man who had a dream
That dream still is in process of coming true
Despite his departure from this earth
I too have a dream
Despite all situations
Keep it alive while I’m alive-
Before it`s too late, before I too, reincarnate

 

from The Mule and the Bitch (2016)

Beauty Knows No Pain
Every redundant stab wound
viciously embedded into my beating heart,
departure of acidic fluid.
Creating more beauty than you would have liked.
Reluctantly persevere, withdrawing failure.
Not about to hold back, not about to give up.
Survive.
Watch as I intimidate, manipulate and complicate,
provoke every involuntary word you say,
let loan every action.
Feel for my dismay.
Regardless of what words.
Words are just words,
choice weapons.
Please don’t do this to me,
this ungratifying, self-inflicted, treachery
perplexing my soul.
Undying discomfort is continually, reluctantly,
ungratefully piercing.
And now this beauty knows no pain.