SerenitySavage

I will bother to write because Andrea Gibson no longer can. Their voice is gone from this plane, but mine still has some air in it. Andrea wrote these poignant words shortly before they passed.  "Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples. I am more with you than I ever was before." "I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I could have imagined." "I decided I was too soft to last. But then I decided to be even softer." "You keep worrying you're taking up too much space. I wish you'd let yourself be the Milky Way." "Andrea would want you to know that they got their wish. In the end, their heart was covered in stretch marks." My social media feed is filled with Andrea's words. They touched more people than they could ever have imagined. Their voice will ring in our ears for years to come. Endlessly. Perfectly. I am so fortunate to have walked the Earth at the...

The other night at work, this customer handed me his card and told me he had just written a novel and that if I was an avid reader, I should look him up. I told him I was a writer myself and I would definitely check out his work. I will refer to this guy as Chris to protect his identity. When I got home, I scanned the QR code on the card and it brought up his website. The first two sentences were all I needed to read. "Chris is not your average author. An IT professional channeling cutting-edge artificial intelligence  into breathtaking narratives, Chris is redefining modern storytelling." In other words, this guy put together a 350 plus page "novel' using AI. Now I am sure it took some effort, assuming he formatted and proof read the story himself. I am not trying to shit on this guy's parade. I am sure he is proud of the work he has done, as he should be. However, this type of thing makes me want to give up on my writing. For the past decade, I have worked dili...

Yesterday, July 14, 2025, one of my favorite poets took their last breath on this Earth. Andrea Gibson's voice was silenced by the ovarian cancer she had battled since 2021. Also yesterday, I was able to receive my expensive Crohn's Disease medication that has kept my illness in remission for the past couple of years. I had to fight extra this time to get my prescription. It took me about ten phone calls over the course of two weeks for Blue Cross to sign off on this atrociously expensive medication. I was 6 days late getting it. It was an anxiety causing fight, but in the end, I was able to get my Stelara injection , 90 miligrams of medicine that gives me a decent quality of life. Why am I spared? Why is Andrea gone, this wonderful weaver of words that I could never compare to? Their condition had no medicine strong enough to eradicate it, but so far mine does. Andrea's endlessly inspirational voice has been cut short. So what will I do with mine?

You guys want to know how aggravatingly difficult it is to be chronically sick in America? I have done it more than once, but let me tell you again. For the past two years, I have been on Stelara injections every 8 weeks for my Crohn’s disease. I am currently in remission thanks to the help of this drug that is priced at over $20,000 for a single 90mg shot. Take note that I said I have been on this drug for two years. I am due my next injection tomorrow. Last week I called the hospital pharmacy because they had not called me yet to refill the medication. I was told that the insurance is requiring another pre authorization in order to fill the script. They don’t just process these astronomically priced drugs unless they get insurance approval first. Forget the fact that the prescription itself is a pre authorization from the doctor. She says I need it, so what is the problem? The problem is that these fucks want to make it harder for me, they want me to give up. I spent 45 minutes on th...

I have come to the conclusion That misery is my soul mate I have tried countless times  To break up with it Or move away Only to find that it always  Ends up at my feet  Groveling for my attention It’s wretched fingers  Intertwine with mine And it drags me down Again and again It’s a never ending constant So maybe I should stop fighting it Come to terms with the fact That misery might be my greatest legacy Love it as it has loved me

I keep the men in my closet  Wrapped up in weatherproof bags They drape from hangers No one has touched in years I have my favorites  Fancy formal dresses  That get worn just once A bridal gown drags the ground Locked away in its white body bag  Amongst memories best forgotten  Then there are the insignificant Testosterone tidbits  Scraped from the bottom of my shoes  That litter the floor of my closet I should really vacuum those out Boxes of pieces that no longer fit I’m just too damn sentimental  To dump them off at the thrift  I haven’t bought anything new in a while The Italian stitching and exotic fabrics Really did a number on my style