When The Truth Hits Home (April 28, 2016)

Chaos is

When reality

And your dreams

Collide together

In the ugliest manner.

Leaving you

With the unwelcome task

Of removing splinters

From part of your body

You never knew

Existed.

As you try

To bandage up

Those bleeding wounds

With little success.

Knowing

The pain is

Just beginning.

As you remove

Your clothes

From the crusting over

Wounds.

Therisa © 2016

Those Awkward Moments (April 28, 2016)

Like a child

She ask questions

Of those

Around her.

Which

Leaves them

Feeling uncomfortable

And totally confused

In the manner

How to respond.

A few simple words

That challenges

Their world view

To the core.

As they wait

For her

To leave.

Before

Feeling safe

To release

Their held breath.

Falling back

Into their comfortable

Daily rut.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Not sure, where this poem originated, but we all know someone, who fits this description of them.

Death: The Goddess Of Life And Balance (April 27, 2016)

The subject matter discuss, here, may be uncomfortable, for some people, as it deals with death and the right to end one's life.

For many

She is

Evil incarnate.

Who's name

Is never spoken

Out loud.

In fear of

It'll invoke

Her appearance.

And yet

For people

Like myself

Who suffer chronically.

Whether

Mentally

Physically

Or both.

She

Is

Relief.

Despite this

We're taught

In the West

Taking our own lives

Is a mortal sin.

Damning us

To Eternal Hell.

Worsening

The societal stigma

For those

Who suffer

From mental illness.

Never mind

If you're hearing

Suicidal thoughts

Telling you:

"Just do it".

Something

I know

All too well.

Given

My daily fight

To tune them

Out.

And yes

I do have

Several plans

Should the need

Arise.

But

The mere fact

I have them

Doesn't mean

I am suicidal.

Or that

You'll trigger me

To commit

This very act.

Rather

Am seeking someone

Who'll listen

To my needs.

Knowing

Silence isn't golden

But deadly

For someone

Like myself.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The following links, are part of the opening discussion that Canada is starting to have right now, concerning assisted death and mental health, as the federal parliament begins debate the proposed changes to the legislation that Supreme Court of Canada ruled, was unconstitutional, last year. Sadly, the governing Liberals have removed all references for the mentally ill, to have control over their lives, by allowing us, this option, should we choice to do so.

http://thewalrus.ca/suicide-is-not-painless/

http://www.cbc.ca/radio/thecurrent/the-current-for-april-25-2016-1.3551316/an-open-uncomfortable-conversation-on-mental-health-suicide-and-doctor-assisted-death-1.3551346

If You Accept This Poem,..... (April 26, 2016)

Am sorry

But

This poet is

Out of service.

Life's pressures

Had gotten

To her.

Please try

On another day

For an original poem

From her.

Otherwise

Search through

The past writing

For inspiration.

This message

Will repeat itself

For the next 10 minutes

Which time

It will explode.

Thank you

Have a nice day.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A bit of silliness, as I am struggling, with a very serious medical issue, right now.

First Star, I See, Tonight (Aprill 24, 2016)

Oh love

To look deep

Into your eyes

Is to lose oneself

Within them.

In opening open

Your soul's

Ancient window

To the world.

Passing judgement

On all

And nothing

With a single glance.

As one

Who has survived

Abuse and abandonment

At a young age.

And yet

Beyond the pain

There's an ancient wisdom

Yearning

For release.

By balancing

Life's yin and yang

As one travels

Through

The light and dark.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Dedicated to Star; my companion, healer and bed hog.

The Thought Was There (April 25, 2016)

Know

You meant well

By dropping off

That food package.

But

I can't eat

Or use

Anything

There.

Due to

My extreme allergy

To caffeine.

You see

The open package

Of ground coffee

Had spilled

In the bag.

Like those

With a ground nut allergy

I won't risk my life

For a moment's pleasure.

Knowing

How painful

And fatal

Anaphylactic shock

Can be.

A brief inhale

Of the ground coffee

Has my nose burning.

Never mind

My hands and face

A' itching

Fierce.

Wanting

To scratch them

Until they bleed

Or the itchiness

Stops.

Besides

I detest

The taste of coffee.

As one

Of the most vilest

Concoction

Invented by man.

Rather

Have someone

Give me

A cup of hemlock tea

To drink.

Much faster

Way to end

My life.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Some time, between 10 am and 2 pm, today, someone left a small care package, at my apartment, while I was using one of the library computers. Containing, a box of oatmeal cookies, two boxes of instant potatoes and the aforementioned open package of ground coffee. Due to my anaphylactic reaction, to caffeine and wasp/hornet stings, I carry upon me, 24/7/365, an Epipen, in a pouch, of my backpack. And anything, I think, has a trace of caffeine, gets dumped or traded off, to someone, who can enjoy it.

A Pissed Off Consumer (April 25, 2016)

Before you

Are the words

Of a person

Who has lived

With mental illness

For more than 40 years.

Often

In silent suffering.

Been told

At a young age

To suck it

And deal with it

Like a man.

At what point

Does society

Start to respect

My rights?

For I don't write

In the hope

Of seeking

Your meaningless pity.

Rather

An expression

Of my anger

Towards a system

That has failed me

On some many levels.

I am giving up

On it.

A system

Taken to

The butcher block

Once

Too often.

To keep healthcare

Cost down.

As long term programs

Are becoming

Like the Dodo bird.

Extinct. 

Being replaced

By short

To medium term

Programs.

Even

These programs

Have long waiting list

To access them.

As Canada's parliament

Gears up

For its internal debate

On assisted death.

Will my wish

Be granted

Allowing me

Should I want it.

To end

My suffering

In a dignified manner.

Like others

Who are enduring

Long term

Debilitating pain.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Many opponents to this propose legislation, are demanding increase programs, for the mental illness, but haven't put forward, who will pay for these new expenditures, as Health Care, is a provincial area of power, under the Canadian constitution that is funding by, the federal government, through transfer payments. Under the currently proposed legislation, I wouldn't qualify, due to my mental illness, even though, a committee has recommended that mentally ill patients, be included, in the group that can apply for assisted death, from a physician.

The Journey Taken (April 22, 2016)

Each word written

A reflection

Of my inner struggle

For normalcy.

Changing

Every second

Whether or not

I'm witnessing it.

Often

In ways

I never expected

Coming.

Leaving me

Feeling frustrated

And anxious.

Where

I'm going

In my personal journey.

As if

Finding a fork

In the road

Going in

Three different directions.

Each tine

Slightly different

From its neighbouring path

In the terrain

And experiences

Offered.

And yet

I need to explore

The one

Which feels

Intuitively right

To me.

In finding

True equilibrium

That means

Lasting peace

For my soul.

Therisa © 2016

The Moral Question (April 23.2016)

Before me

An ethical question

Has arisen

Its ugly head

That needs

To be answered.

As a vegetarian

Who's diet is

Almost vegan.

How do I

Justify the use

Of animal products

In the medicine

I take?

Whether

It's over the counter

Or prescribed.

What right

Do I have

To take

Another being's life

For my own?

I ask this

For many products

Are produced

With animal proteins

Without realizing it.

For there

Will come

A time.

I'll have

No choice.

In keeping

My moral principles

And standards.

Either

Take the medication

Or die.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: This poem was sparked, by my researching Insulin, on Thursday  (April 21, 2016), before my April 22nd doctor appointment. I asked my doctor, stating my dietary and moral position, on using animal product produce medication. He told me, almost all current forms of Insulin, are synthetically produced.

The following link, explains, how gelatin is produced: http://www.peta.org/about-peta/faq/what-is-gelatin-made-of/

Avoiding Arrest (April 20, 2016)

Today Am fighting myself Knowing What awaits me Should I lose. Imprisonment Within the walls Of my apartment. Contained deep In the organic mass Of tissue I call My brain. To everyone else But me. These bars are Invisible And non-existence. Having given up Any hope Of the door Being left ajar By my jailors. Only time Will provide The needed key For release. As I watch The world Unfold Around me. Therisa © 2016 Author's note: Yesterday (April 19, 2016), I got the bad news, concerning my out of control A1C readings, from my diabetic nurse. And I can feel the darkness of my depression, threatening to consume me, in a darkening bout of isolation, which will worsen, over time, to the point, I will attempt another suicide try. Part of the joy, of knowing how my body reacts, to certain stimuli.

A Friday's Reflection (April 22, 2016)

Slowly

My generation's

Musical icons

Are moving on.

As I awaken

To the news

Of Prince's

Sudden departure.

Finding my mind

Wandering backwards

More than 30 years ago

To the first time

I heard him.

It was

The age of video parties

For school dances

As local music stations

Had their own VJ

As host.

And yes

Neon coloured t-shirts

And sweat shirts

Were the fashion rage

With parachute pants.

A soft sigh

Escapes me

As I think

How naïve and young

I was.

Believing

I could change

The world

Around me.

In a profound

And lasting way.

Instead

The world

Changed me.

Therisa © 2016

Author's notes: I wrote this, while taking the streetcar, to see my doctor, for an appointment, at 10:30 am. Trying to take my mind off, the thought of having to inject myself, with insulin, tonight, for the first time. Instead, I have wait, until next week, before it begins.

The Bell Tolls (April 19, 2016)

Can feel

My heart racing

At 1000 km/h.

As I wait

To see

The newest members

Of my medical team.

Knowing

Bad news  waits

When I hand in

The required forms

For my food log.

Feeling like

A condemned prisoner

Who been served

The last dinner

Before the gallows.

Each second

The minute hand moves

Brings me

Ever closer

To my doom.

Three days time

My life is

Forever

Changed

By insulin shots.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Written, while waiting to see my diabetic nurse and nutritionist, on April 19, 2016.

Latest Bitter Pill (April 21, 2016)

How do I

Explain this

So you understand.

The depth

I have

With my fear

Of needles.

Instead of

Dismissing it

Out of hand.

As if

Treating me

Like a small child

Who doesn't know

Better.

Well aware

Of the dangers

That await me

As this disease

Progresses.

Having lost

Two uncles

And a grandfather.

Ignoring my diabetes

Is to commit

The most aggressive form

Of passive suicide.

On several fronts

By me.

Condemning myself

Forever

To this hated

Male bodyshell.

Rather be

Strange fruit

Upon a tree

Than that.

For no surgeon

Will touch

Anyone

With uncontrollable

Diabetes.

Once more

Am strange fruit

Ready

To be picked.

In reality

There's no real choice

Between the insulin needle

And death.

Just hope

I can do it

As prescribed.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On Tuesday, during the appointment, with my diabetic nurse, I found out, my latest A1C results. Upon hearing them, I know, during my Friday appointment, with my doctor, he'll be starting me, on insulin. Whether or not, I like it.

Rebuilding (April 20, 2016)

They're here

Just waiting

For that magical moment

To unleash their deluge.

Not sure

I want it

To end

Once started.

My tears.

Striping away

The corrupt

And decaying matter

Of my soul.

Feeling like

A diseased creature

One would put down.

Without

A second thought.

Being out-of-sync

With everything

In my body

And life.

Which

This synthetic body

Clashes

On all levels

With my soul.

If I could

Would tear

Everything apart

And rebuild.

From the soles

Of my feet

Up.

In an organic

And holistic manner

That Western thought

Doesn't understand

Or grasp

Yet.

Balancing out

The yang

And yin

As one.

Therisa © 2016

Oops. Did My Hair Hiss? (April 19, 2016)

Please

Pardon me.

But

My hair is

A royal mess.

My long mane

Flowing off

In all direction

Like Medusa's.

Each strand

Having

Its own mind.

Caring not

What I want.

Regardless

Of its length

Or the lack of.

Unlike

Medusa's locks

You'll won't turn

Into stone

By me.

But

A stylist or two

Has been known

To been cut

By my tresses.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: In the cold midday wind, my hair was flowing, all over the place, as I walked to the subway station, from a nearby library branch, for an appointment, with my new diabetic nurse and nutritionist.

The Immigrants (April 19, 2016)

teacher.scholastic.com

Across

The stormy Atlantic

They came.

By the thousands

They arrived

In pursuit

Of prosperity.

Seeking

A brighter tomorrow

For themselves

And children.

Leaving behind

The known troubles

For an unknown future.

Dreams of land

Filled their eyes

And hearts.

Never knowing

Or realizing

The ordeals

That await them.

In building

A continent

From the ground up.

Through

Their blood sweat

And tears.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Many North Americans, can trace their family tree, back to the 19th century, and the flood of European immigrants, lure here, by the promise of land, and a brighter future, from their native country. My Scottish ancestors came to Canada, on these promises, settling in, eastern Ontario and western Quebec.

Wednesday Morning Thoughts (April 24, 2013)

Peace

Silence of the soul

From internal fighting.

 

Harmony

Universal celebration

Of love.

 

Tolerance

Not another buzz word

Uttered by the political elite

To mask indifference.

 

Joy

Self-acceptance

Of one's self

Warts and all.

 

Hope

Binding glue

For all.

Therisa © 2013

Author's note: An earlier poem, I write, about 3 years ago.

Life, At Therisa's (April 18, 2016)

Just great

My talented muse

Has left me

A "Dear Writer" letter

Upon my pillows.

Telling me

She has ran away

With the Sprite

Next door

For parts unknown.

And I

Shouldn't be looking

For her return

Any time

Soon.

As if

My all seeing

Crystal ball

Is working.

Never mind

One of the cats

Got curious

And knocked it

From it perch

In my bedroom closet.

Guess

It got spooked

By seeing

Its reflection

In the ball.

Lucky me

It wasn't

A mirror.

Otherwise

Another seven years

Of bad luck

On top of

My already

Negative karma index.

Last time

We talked

Muse was pissed

About the Sprite

Being "an airhead".

Wanting nothing

To do

With her.

Guess

The Sprite dances

An amazing

Mattress mambo.

Sigh.

Still

My writer's block

Remains.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: An attempt to break my current writer's block, since last night. And yeah, I know, with an average of 2 poems/day, for April, I should jumping for joy. Call me, greedy. Now, where did I misplace my answering Golem? Should be, somewhere, in this organized Chaos, I call my apartment.

Finally (April 17, 2016)

At last

I saw

My first official sign

Winter is

Over.

A wee ladybug

Graces us

With its appearance

On my apartment building's

Back steps.

Never mind

The past two days

Have seen

Double digit highs

With high UV readings.

Walking clothe piles

Are evaporating

Like last week's snow

In this warm weather.

As people emerge

Prostrating

Before the returning God

After six months

Of mourning.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Starting, on April 16 and continuing on, to today, Toronto has seen daily highs, climbing from 14 C, to yesterday's 19 C, and today's high, of 24 C. Looks like, once more, Spring has been skipped, as we head, directly, into Summer, here. Oh joy.

Nazi Redux: North Carolina Style (April 17, 2016)

Distant horizon

Gathering storm clouds

Are forming

With a violent intensity.

As

One American state

After another

React aggressively

To the growing

Trans menace.

Who threaten

Christian family values

By their very presence

In society.

Let us

Strip them

Of all legal

And human rights.

In the name

Of God

And His Son

Jesus.

To protect

Our children

From their moral corruption.

By banning them

From any position

That interacts

With any child.

At all times

These sub-humans

Must wear

Distinctive clothing

Warning us

Of their gene pollution.

You think

I'm exaggerating

With my lines of verse

Meaning.

How I wish

I was.

But

I am not.

As North Carolina legislators

Has passed

And enacted

Many of these

Restrictive laws.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: By writing and posting this, am prepared, to receive more than my share of hate, from those people, who think, I'm a lunatic and deserve to be locked up, in a mental institution. It won't be the first, nor last time, I have received hate, aimed at me, by ignorant bigots, who think, the world begins and ends, with their religious belief, making a mockery, of the core tenets of their religion.  

As a student of history, I see too many parallels, to the road that the Nazi's policy that demonized and dehumanized any group, they felt was, sub-human, by their standards. And yes, the LGBT+ community was, one of those groups, targeted, by the Nazi.

The following link explains, some of the blowback, the law has upon, the LGBT+ community, and the reaction to it, by businesses, entertainers and the US federal government:

http://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2016/apr/12/north-carolina-anti-lgbt-law-governor-executive-order

Upon The Warpath (April 16, 2016)

Never asked

To become

A rebel.

Life

Forced me.

Through

Happenchance

And genetics.

No matter

How I try

To run away.

Am brought back

Kicking and screaming.

By a society

That systematically

Discriminates

Against those

Who are different.

A fact

I learn

At an early age.

In being failed

By a grade one teacher

For having

Learning disabilities.

Or

The sad fact

Of having to fight

Just to get

The proper treatment

For my various

Mental illnesses.

In a system

Doctor knows best

Always.

Never mind

I came out

As a trans-lesbian

To a transphobic parent.

Learning

A whole new lesson

What parental love

Really means.

Or

The transphobic nature

Of the various services

One uses

On a daily basis.

From healthcare

Food banks

To homeless shelters.

A constant reminder

Of the war

I must wage

For equality

And compassion.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Inspired, by Sherry Blue Sky's comment, on my poem, No Trannies Allowed. Only wished, my war had ended, before I picked up my weapons, to fight it.

No Trannies Allowed (April 16, 2016)

Is humanity

So shallow?

We need to make

Snap judgements

About a person's  gender

Without knowing them?

A question

I ask you

As a member

Of the cis-world.

Knowing

From shared experiences

Among the trans-community

There are places

We can't go.

Even though

By-laws and laws

Prohibit this action

To little avail.

As if

Our very presence

Is viewed

By you

As lepers.

By driving away

Any possible consumer

From your establishment

(Yeah right).

Our money

Toxic

Beyond comprehension

Burning holes

Through your cash registers.

Marking

Your transphobic

Bigotry

In its ugliest glory.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The following links are, to articles, about stores/shops, who have openly displayed a transphobic attitude, to possible transgender client: http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/saskatoon/transgender-bride-files-human-rights-complaint-1.1366868

https://ca.style.yahoo.com/post/142010394665/transgender-man-sues-barbershop-for-turning-him

Personally, I strongly dislike the word, "trannie", as it refers to a trans-person, in paregoric way, and has its roots, in the porn industry. 

Those Final Moments (April 16, 2016)

Empty words

From a hollowed out

Soul.

Beyond

Its best before date

For human interaction.

Who has seen

Too much violence

For a lifetime.

Walking

Through life

Like a zombie.

Just seeking

That final moment

Of true peace.

Where pain ends

And the flashbacks

Disappear.

Before taking

That final breathe

Of good-bye.

Contented

The troubled soul

Has found absolution.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Just something that emerged, as I wrote it.

No Write Way, For Poetry (April 15, 2016)

Thank you

For your suggestions

On improving

My writing style.

Am sure

You meant well

With your comment.

But

No thanks.

It is

This preaching 

Of poetic orthodoxy

That chased me

Away from poetry

As a student.

So many years

Ago.

It may surprise you

But

I don't write

For your reading

Enjoyment.

Rather

A daily exercise

In my battle

With chronic depression

Various anxiety disorders

And PTSD.

As

An intuitive writer

Where the words lay

Has to feel

Just right.

To do so

Otherwise

Is to commit suicide.

Something

I've been fighting

All my life

Against.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On another site, I had someone suggest, something similar, to improve my readers' appeal (what they thought a free verse poem, should be written as. Never realizing, by doing so, you're destroying, the very essences that makes my poems, unique.

Welcome To Depression (April 15, 2016)

Melancholy thoughts

Are blustering

Throughout

My mind.

Like the aftermath

Of a large emotional storm

Having swept across

My soulscape.

Struggling

To switch on

My internal generator

To get on

With the day.

Venus Star

And Squeak

Are crying

In their cat voices.

Having failed

In their attempts

To jump start

My body's motor.

As I sink

Ever lower.

Until

I find myself

A mere handspan

Above the floor

That's marked

Despair.

Hoping

My levees

Are strong enough

To withstand

The incoming hurricane

Of tears.

That's coming

In the following days

For me.

As I wish

I could say

It's idle speculation

But history says

Otherwise.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Normally, I suffer depression, on a semi-annually basis, (From late June to August, and November to February), except this year, My Fall/Winter depression doesn't want to leave, as it seems to be making a surge, to regain, what strength it has lost over the past two months. Lucky me, not! Worse, it's interconnected with my struggle to control my diabetes.

Sigh.

Threads Of Hope And Change? (April 14, 2016)

www.etsy.com

I wonder

Has anyone done

A serious study

At the effectiveness

Of a ribbon campaign?

Everywhere

One looks

There's 1001 ribbons

Proclaiming their cause

And pleading.

Many of them

Affect my

On a personal level.

Other then

A temporary

"Feel good" sensation

By the wearer

Has anything changed?

Want to say

"Yes"

But reality says

Otherwise.

The curse

Of being

A pessimistic-optimist.

Therisa © 2016

Life's Roller Coaster (April 14, 2016)

bestonamusementequipment.com

Can the feel

My energy

Slowly drain

From my soul.

As if

A giant syphon

Was attached.

My emotions

A giant roller coaster ride

Nearly careening

Out of control.

With every curve taken

And hill crested

Can feel the tears

Threaten to unleash

A personal tsunami.

As my emotions

Leave life's track

For parts unknown.

Taking me

Into territory

Rather

Not explore

Anymore.

Only

Want off

This Hell ride.

In the faint hope

Of regaining

A fragile sense

Of emotional equilibrium.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Usually, the first sign of appending bout of depression, is having my emotions going sidewards, like this. With bouts of tears, happening, at any time, for any reason. Once, had a doctor make a comment that I was reacting, like a woman does. Meaning, if I was reacting, in a male way, these emotions would be pent up, until they explode, in a toxic way, to my psyche. Thanks, but no thanks. Been there, Seen that, and got the t-shirt, to prove it,

My Route Of Escape (April 14, 2016)

Ottawa

The national capital

And my reprieve

However temporary

It may be

From him.

Short of Windsor

Or a northern Ontario

Community location

Being the furtherest university

From here.

Sadly

Putting distance

Between a trauma site

And you

Doesn't mean peace.

A fact

I discovered

In the fall of 1990

As I battled

Severe depression.

During the rainiest

October and November

I have lived

Through.

More than once

I thought

Of jumping

Into a drained lock

Of Rideau Canal.

That forms

One of Carleton University's

Boundaries.

Only

To be dismissed

As homesickness

On my part.

By the university's

Counselling staff

In my first year

There.

Once more

Do I fall

Through

The system's cracks.

Therisa © 2016

Doing It, For Myself (April 13, 2016)

Been asked

In the past

Am I transitioning

As a way

Of striking back

At my mom.

A question

I can answer

Truthfully

No.

The greatest weapon

I can hurt her

Is silence

On my part.

Or

In reaction

To the years

Of abuse

By my younger brother.

Another question

That I can answer

No.

My first conscious memory

Of seeing myself

As a girl

Occurred

More than

Forty-one years ago.

Sitting

In a bathtub

Alone

Covering my chest

In bubble bath bubbles

Like I have breasts.

Similar

To mom's.

Never mind

The big differences

In how

I played

With my toys

As a child.

By being gentle

With them

Like they're fragile dolls.

Not the smash

Bang

Crash'em way

Of most small boys.

Or

My teenage years

Walking

Throughout the house

When alone.

As if

I was wearing

High heels.

Like the models

And actresses do

On TV.

Therisa © 2016

In The Shadows (April 13, 2016)

In my mind Simon & Garfunkel Are singing "The Boxer" With acoustic guitars. As the tears Well up In my eyes. Having That dull ache Within me. Whenever I think of What passes As home During my childhood. The black lies That are told Around the punches And kicks To my body. I am screaming Am screaming. In hearing My raw voice Begging Make it stop But no one hears Or pays attention. As my body Curls up Into a foetal position On the bed Wishing for death. Knowing It's not coming. Although I pray To a God I don't believe in. Hoping for That release From this Hell On Earth. Therisa © 2016 Author's note: I know, this word prompt poem, is suppose to be happy and uplifting, but I can't write a bold lie. For too many children, home is, a place of abuse and torture, as I know, from my own personal experience, at the hands of a family member. Most of the time, it was dismissed, as being sibling rivalry, by my parents and the people, around us.

Feeding Time (April 12, 2016)

Once more

I crawl

Into the crypt

To face Him.

Knowing

I will be

Baring my arm

For Dracula.

My hands are

White knuckling

And my body is

Approaching

"Fight or flight" mode.

An alcoholic towel

Is wiped

Over an area

Dracula will sink

His tooth

Into.

A sharp pain

Announces

His feeding

Upon my blood.

Mercifully

Only one tube

And not

The usual 3-4 tubes.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Written on the subway, during the ride home, today.

When Darkness Breeds (April 12, 2016)

Here

I stand

As a witness

To the systemic discrimination

That plagues

Canada's Aboriginal people.

Even though

I want to turn away

As my own dark memories

Come to the forth.

In having

Your very soul

Stripped away

And told:

"You're worthless".

Over and over

Again.

To the point

You start believing it

As the light is

Snuffed out.

And hope is

Another 4 letter word

To curse you.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: I wrote this, this morning, on my way, upon the streetcar, to visit the lab, to have my quarterly blood work to check my A1C.

A Pipedream? (April 12, 2016)

As I sit

Before this computer

Attempting

To type out

This poem.

My mind is

Wandering

All over.

Into areas

I rather not go

As the tears

Threaten to flow.

Is it

A fantasy

To think?

Maybe

One day

I'll be free

Of my lifelong depression?

One

So deep

A cocktail

Of anti-depressants

Had little affect.

Beyond

Triggering massive

Side-effects

In my body.

Worsening

How I view myself

And my self-hatred

To my body.

Never mind

The crying bouts

And the hidden tears

I shed

Behind closed doors.

Would settle

For just one day

Of feeling

What everyone else

Takes for granted.

Equilibrium.

Therisa © 2016

Empty Moccasins (April 11, 2016)

www.mayoral.com

Will not pretend

To understand

What drives you

To seek out death.

Beyond

The great sorrow

That holds

Your soul

Like a vise grip.

But

I understand

What it means

To walk down

This road

Of no return.

Having stood upon

Its gravel shoulder.

Once

Too often

Myself.

Of broken promises

And systemic neglect

From those

Who are response.

Utter despair

Fills the soul

Beyond the point

Of understanding

And caring

Anymore.

Just wanting

The pain

To end.

Permanently.

Maybe

I do understand

All too well

What has driven you

To reach this point.

But

For different reasons

You're experiencing

Right now.

May

The Earth Mother

Take you

In Her loving

And healing embracing.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Sadly, was inspired, by Sherry Blue Sky's post, on another trouble Canadian aboriginal community. Here is, the link, to Sherry's post: http://stardreamingwithsherrybluesky.blogspot.ca/2016/04/state-of-emergency-in-attawapiskat.html

An Overstayed Visit (April 10, 2016)

Nada

Nothing

Zero.

My poor Muse

A shivering lump

Under my blankets.

Pouting

In protest

At the unseasonable

Cold weather.

As if

Ole Man Winter

Has lost his glasses

And can't read

His smart phone.

Not realizing

He has overstayed

His visit

By three weeks

And counting.

Myself

Just want

That final big snowstorm

Marking his departure.

As I do

My striptease

In removing

My various layers

Of winter clothing

Until next November.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: At the time, of the first pitch, between Toronto Blue Jays, and the Boston Red Sox, the temperature was -3 C (April 10, 2016). A very unseasonably cold April day, for the Toronto area. The predicted temperatures for the following week are suppose to be, more seasonable norms, for this time of the year.

That Guilty Feeling (April 11, 2016)

Not sure

If others can understand

The viscous impact

That violence has

Upon one's life.

(Whether

Sexually  psychologically

Or physically)

Even now

Many years later.

Still

Find myself

Easily being triggered

By these memories

From my past.

No amount

Of hot water and soap

Or drowning my body

In the bathtub.

Will remove

These mortal stains

From my soul.

Although

I know

These experiences

Aren't my fault.

And yet

Somehow

I feel responsible

For what happened

During these assaults

Upon me.

In feeling guilty

For them

Happening.

As if

I had done

Or acted

Differently.

I would be spared

These traumatic

Experiences.

But

I know

Nothing can change

Those violent events

From occurring.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note:  On Saturday, April 9, 2016, I began a new blog, which I posted the first letter that I have written, to my younger self, as a 15 year old, about the abuse that would happen me, during that Summer. Must warn anyone that reads this, it's filled with some graphic physical violence, and may act, as a trigger, for some. Sadly, I triggered myself, today. The following is a link, to the first post of the new blog. http://munsentletters.blogspot.ca/2016/04/summer-of-1985.html
Am working on, another letter to myself, which covers the period of my self-discovery and coming out, after years of self-denial. Not sure, when I be able to post it, as it took me, about a month, of writing daily, to do the first letter.


Please, don't thrown off, by the male name that appears in the letter's greeting, as that was my name, my parents gave me, at birth. An Angolized version, of one of my dad's brothers' Dutch name, who died, during an asthma attack, choking on phlegm, in his wife's arms.

Sweet Smell Of Pioson (April 9, 2016)

www.ebay.com

A scent of Nature

Much abused

From some poor flower

Used to hide

Our unnatural odour.

Whose cloy smell

Lingers

Long after

You're gone.

Attacking my senses

Like a released canister

Of a chemical weapon.

As I struggle

To function

Under

Its assault.

Fighting

Through tearing eyes

Wheezing chest

And taste it

Upon my tongue.

Sad thing is

You don't realizing

That you're poisoning

The very air

We share.

By drowning yourself

In your perfume

That you have spent

A small fortune

Upon.

Just once

Would love

Have someone

Experience life

Like I do.

Chemically sensitive

To everything.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: It sucks, to be chemically sensitive, to almost everything, that makes up the modern world, we live in. Especially, to those scents and smells, most people consider appealing and desirable. If I could, I would move out to the wilderness, away from the civilization, as we know it. Except, the services that I need, are location, in this big urban centre, we call, Toronto.

What My Muse Wrote (April 9, 2016)

A simple life

Is all

That I ask for.

Able to go

An entire night

With no interruptions

That plagues my sleep. 

Without

The violent memories

That haunt me.

Never

Having to wear

This grinning façade

That hides my tears.

Able to look

At my own body

Without being repulsed

By the image

That greets me.

Or

Not having

The medical need

For the daily cocktail

That I do.

Is this

Asking too much

For myself?

A question

That I can't answer.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Felt this poem, talking to me, urging me, to write it, never knowing, what I was writing out.

A True Warrior Princess (April 8, 2016)

www.biography.com

You call me

A fighter

But I know

I'm not.

For a real fighter

Is Christine Jorgensen.

Who

Pioneered a revolution

In the understanding

Of how gender is viewed.

Also

How post-op transwomen are

Treated medically

In our HRT programme.

By being herself

In championing

Trans rights

As her life work.

You must realize

The 1950s and 1960s

Being an open LGBT+ person

Was to blacklist yourself.

Given

The misguided association

With communism

And the "Red" scare

Throughout

The west.

A fact

Ms Jorgensen discovered

To her horror.

When

Her wedding licence request

Was rejected

(in 1959).

As her birth certificate

Listed her

As male.

A fight

Grateful

I don't have
To face.

For I can have

My gender change

On my birth certificate

Without undergoing

The surgeon's scalpel.

And yet

So much

Hate and ignorance

From her time

Remains.

To be fought

By mine

And future generations

To make Ms Jorgensen's dream

A reality.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For more information, about Ms Jorgensen's life, please click on the following linking: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christine_Jorgensen

In Canada, the provinces of Ontario and British Columbia, are the only two provinces, which allows a transperson, to change their gender, on their birth certificate. without having to undergo, any type of surgery that may be viewed, as a form of SRS.

Solitude Standing (April 8, 2016)

In my mind

I hear Suzanne Vega

Singing this song

Without a backing band.

As the few happy

Childhood memories

Are reviewed

Mentally.

Wiping away

The tears

With the back

Of my soaked hand.

My heart longing

For her

To stand

By my side.

In having her

Embracing me

Within her flame lit

Tattooed arms.

Thus

Burning away

My inner darkness.

As I hear her

Whispering

These words

Into my ear:

"Into the fire

My love

Your sorrows

Shall grow

No more.

"But

Shall nourish

Your emerging self

Like a Phoenix reborn

To live and love

Again."

For only

In the darkness

Does she comes

To me

In her silhouette.

Am I 

Able to feel

Whole.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: My 2600th poems written, since March 30, 2007, when I started writing poetry, for the first time, at my desire, and not, because I had to, for school purposes.

Sigh. Not sure, where this should labelled, as a love poem, or one of a soul's longing, for completion and healing. Maybe, it's both. 

Ms Vega's Solitude Standing was the second CD, that I have ever bought, in 1987. Can remember playing, "Luka" over and over again, as I could relate to the lyrics, she had written, in this song, about child abuse, except my case, it wasn't a parent or a living-in lover, who abused me, physically, but my younger brother. And yes, I cried every time, I see the video, for this song.

The Beach (April 7, 2016)

There are times

I find myself

Feeling like

A grain of sand.

Someone has

Casted adrift

Into an ocean

Of indifference.

Moving

Back and forth

Upon the waves

As they wash ashore.

Wondering

How one grain

Of sand

Can change

The world.

When

The beach is covered

In tens of thousands

Individual sand grains

Like me.

Each one

Trying to

Make our mark.

In fighting

Against

The laws of inertia

That prevail.

Blindly stumble

Over each other

Without knowing it.

As the pounding surf

Grinds away

Our resistance

Into fine dust particles

That's blown away

Upon the next zephyr.

Bringing in

The next lot

Of grains

Wanting to

Change the world.

As the cycle

Renews

Itself

Once more.

Therisa © 2016

Seven (April 7, 2016)

Happy birthday

Venus and Squeak.

I know

Your birth hour is

Between 7 and 8 pm

My loves.

Which happened

On a Sunday

Seven years ago.

But

I couldn't resisted

This impulse

To kiss you

Happy birthday.

Wouldn't surprised me

If you think

I'm daft

At times.

With my behaviour

And actions.

But

Your very presence

In my life

Has had

Very profound effects

Upon me.

In a positive way.

For I can say

Without your love

And compassion

Would have killed

Myself.

Over

The holiday season

Of 2010-11.

Or

The numerous times

That you have helped me

During my PTSD flashbacks

And severe anxiety attacks

By bring there.

So enjoy

This special day

My loves.

I promise

Will serve you

A very special treat

Of Salmon

Tonight.

Sorry

It'll have to be

From a can

And not

A fresh fillet.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: First met, Venus and Squeak, with their 2 sisters and brother, when they were, a week old, nursing on their mother, Mercury (named after the leader singer, of Queen, Freddy Mercury) and her sister, Rosie. In the following 7 weeks, I could found, around the nursing Mercury and her kittens, sleeping my anxiety away, as the PTSD flashbacks were driving me, insane. They had become my island of sanity, in a torturous world of brutal abusive memories, of my childhood and later on.

Between The Line (April 6, 2016)

There are days

I find myself

Wishing.

Someone had told me

About the joys

That would mark

My second time

Through puberty.

Especially

The growing pains

My developing breasts

Would give me.

Never mind

The world's perception

Has changed

With each emerging stage

Of my development.

Often

With mixed emotions.

Like

I'm being treated

As a delicate flower

About to lose its petals

In a strong breeze.

And yet

There are times

Am grateful

For these days

By getting assistance

That would never happen

As a male.

Being exposed

To situations

Neither gender understand

For not having

Lived it

Like I have.

Straddling

The gender divide

Of what it means

To be

A trans-citizen

In the World

Of cis-men and women.

In the barriers

And expectations

Each gender has

For itself

And the other gender.

Often

Unrealistic

In their nature.

As I move

Ever close

From one gender

To the other.

Therisa © 2016

Raw (April 6, 2016)

Once more

The taps have

Been turned on

After several years

Of being left

In the "off" position.

As the memories

Swirl around

In my mind.

Previously

The overage

Has been spilling

Over the dam's edge

I had erected

Mentally.

Threatening

To collapse

From external pressure.

As it did

On August 14, 2007

In suffering 

A 26 hour

Panic attack.

After riding

The subway

In the morning

Rush hour.

Feeling a surge

Of those toxic memories

From my childhood

Once more.

Slipping

Through barriers

Built since then.

As I try

To find relief

In opening

The sluice gate

Under healing guidance.

Knowing

This pent-up

And unprocessed anger

Needs release.

For real healing

Of body and soul

To occur.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Today (April 6, 2016), I had my first counselling session, with my new therapist. Honestly, I have shared memories, with him, in that I haven't told anyone else, about, since they have happened to me. Specifically, going into the details, how I felt, at the time. The next session is, for April 20th, then the first Wednesday, in May.

Rush Hour: Yonge/Bloor Station (April 5, 2016)

www.ttc.ca

Like a silver serpent

It does arrive

At the subway platform

Screeching brakes

And hidden sparks.

Disgorging

Its passengers

Like a raided loot.

Taken

From other subway stations

Further down

Or up the line

From here.

Flooding the platforms

Likes a colony

Of disturbed ants

Moving in

All directions

At once.

As they scurry

To make their connection

With another subway

Going north south

East and west.

An electronic chime

Sounds off

Followed by

Warnings:

"Not to rush

To doors

Or hold them

Open".

With a swoosh

The Leviathan

Leaves the platform

Packed to the gills

With commuters.

Only thing missing

Are the Tokyo pushers

To cram every single cm

With more passagers

Into the rolling tin can.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The Yonge/Bloor subway station, is the busiest station of the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) stations. So busy, during off-peak hours, I avoid it, as its large crowds, have triggered panic attacks, for me.

The above photo, is one of the new trains that Bombardier Transportation is suppose to supply, but is several months, behind, it delivery schedule.

To Reboot, Or Not To Reboot? (April 5, 2016)

www.pinterest.com

A weary soul

Does bleed

Upon the screen

Before you.

In seeking

The need energy

To do

Life's little things.

Wanting

But failing

To generate

A new idea

Or two.

As if

My mind is

Stuck

In neutral gear.

Watching

The world

Moving by me

At warp speed.

And yet

So many thoughts

Circulate

In my mind.

Crying out

For their release

From the mental prison

That entraps them.

Would

A system reboot

Partial or otherwise

Unlock the prison gates

Freeing these prisoners

Of mine.

Wish

I knew

One way

Or another.

To silent

This bedlam

Within my mind.

Once

And for all.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Last night, was a brutal night, sleep-wise, for me. As I struggled to find, that mental sweet spot, for my brain, to shut down, and rest. Stirring awake, at the slightest touch, from the little ones (Venus, Squeak and Star), upon my body. Right now, am struggling to function, in what passes, as a normal manner.

Home Of The Brave, Land Of The Free (April 4, 2016)

www.meetup.com

A wee baby mouse

You lay

In my outstretched hands.

Never knowing

In the next moment

Your death

Awaits you.

As you yawn

So helplessly

On the shredded blanket

In the steamer trunk.

Among your sisters

And brothers.

Your mother

Nowhere

To be seen

By us

Humans.

Forced

To turn away

As my dad killed you

By spraying poison

Upon your body.

In shame

Silent

Invisible tears

Fell.

By what power

Do we

Humans

Have the right

To slaughter those

We view

As vermin.

Haven't we learned

Our lesson

With DDT?

In almost having lost

The majestic Peregrine falcon

From our skies.

As their nests

Once more

Grace Toronto's skyline 

With young.

Beating the odds

Stacked against them

By our folly.

Encircling

Queen's Park

With their regal flight

Overhead.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For more information, on Peregrine Falcons, please click on the following link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peregrine_falcon

For me, the Peregrine Falcon is the ultimate survivor, in coming back, from near extinction, to repopulate areas that people wouldn't think possible for them. Plus, they keep the pigeon population down, to more manageable levels, without needing to chemical means.