Distant Echoes (July 30, 2016)

Can still hear

Mom and dad

Shouting

At each other.

Guilt fills 

My 6 years old

Soul.

Like

I am responsible

For their verbal fight

That happening

Before me.

Even now

Almost 4 decades 

Later.

The guilt

Still haunts me.

As tears 

Threat to overflow

My tear ducts.

Gushing forth

Like Niagara Falls

Regardless

Of my location

In a public area.

Leaving me

Brimming with curses

At my long term memory

And its ability

To retain them.

Wishing for

Total amnesia

Of any long term

Memory.

Failing that

Then

Death.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For more years, than I care to remember, my long term memory has been able to retains events that I would rather have erased. One of the huge disadvantage of this, is a "Swiss" cheese like short term memory, which I have forgotten numerous conversations, after I or the other person has left. As a teenager, my mom stopped asking me, to get anything from the downstairs pantry, as I would forget her request, by the time, I got to the pantry. 

An Ending (August 8, 2013)

Never

Sexually assaulted

By you.

But

You actions raped

My mind and soul.

Destroying a child

Filled with hope

And Dreams.

As my tears

Form a noose

Around my neck.

Each new tear

Adds an additional loop

Until thirteen is reach

And tightened.

As the trap door

Opens.

Therisa © 2013

Author's note: Originally posted, on a peer supported PTSD site.

Untitled (July 7, 2012)

Daddy

Why is

My heart filled

With so such pain?

That

Tears flow

So effortless

Down my cheeks.

Am I

A freak

Like people

Tell me?

To be feared

And assaulted

For being

Myself?

Oh

Daddy

I miss your

Protective arms

Holding me

Safe.

Like

A child

Again.

Therisa © 2012

Author's note: Another old poem, from my poetic morgue, written, during the depth of depression.

Broken System (Fiction) (November 24, 2011)

Knife edge

Pressed against

The tender underside

Of a wrist.

Hope

A foreign word

Which has

No more meaning

At all.

Complaints

Fell upon

Deaf ears.

Forced to deal

With volatile emotions

Beyond

A person’s control.

Blamed

For everything

That has happened

In the past.

Two

Swift stokes

No more.

Therisa © 2011

Author's note: An older poem, from 2011, with many elements that ring true, for me, it's a fictional poem. Yes, I know, it's a dark poem.

War, I Wage (July 19, 2016)

At war

Literally

With myself.

Starving my body

As I campaign

Against depression.

Destroying myself

For short term gains.

As the glucose readings

Spike upwards

Into dangerous territory.

While

My drug bill

Grows.

Therisa © 2016

Final Fateful Wish (July 18, 2016)

My earliest memory

Is more than 

Thirty years old

Dating back

To my teenage years.

In wishing

My death

The previous night

As I sleep.

Instead of

Waking up

The coming morn.

Just wanting

The violence

In my life

To end.

Like the seasons

It cycles

Between passive

And active 

Suicide thoughts.

Once more

Am waiting for

The nightly wish

To come

And end this.

Therisa © 2016

Beyond The Surface (July 20, 2016)

We talk

As if

We know

What acceptance

Really means.

Without 

Having a clue

About the level

Of our ignorance

For this word.

I say this

As someone

Who has experienced

This first hand.

What hate

Really means

And does

To a person.

On a physical

Psychological 

And emotional level.

Blaming myself

For causing

This destructive energy

Around me.

Questioning

Everything

About myself.

To the point

I hated myself

With a passion

Corroding my soul

In toxic poison.

As Death

By suicide

Becomes

The only solution

For this.

Even now

Am slipping down

Into this growing despair

Of darkness.

Just wanting it

To end

One way

Or another.

Therisa © 2016

A Verbal Photograph Of My Past (July 16, 2016)

In darkness

I lay

Hiding away

From life.

My soul

A lacerated road map

Of mental scars

(In various stages

Of healing).

From the evil

Humanity can inflict

Upon each other.

Without

A second thought.

When their fists

And feet

Couldn't break me

Physically.

They turn

To psychological

And emotional attacks.

Destroying

Whatever confidence

And esteem

I had.

To the point

I found myself

Standing

On the narrow ledge.

Ready 

To jump.

Not once

But several times

Throughout my life.

Always stopping

Just a step or two

Short

From taking

That final leap.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note:The past 2 months, have been emotionally brutal, to me, given the constant death toll, from the hatred inspired violence, around the world. Worsening, my semi-annual depression, I experience, around the Canada Day holiday (July 1), which is marked, with the deaths of many family members, and the death of the relationship, between my mom and I. Starting back, in 1977, with the death of my grandfather (my mom's dad), from a massive heart attack, as the result of being, Type II diabetic. There's more to this, but I don't feel comfortable, talking about it, right now.

Wearing Fur, With Pride (July 11, 2016)

Oh Squeak

My love.

You think

I would've learnt

By now.

Softly

Chiding myself

As I brush off

Your excess fur

From my dark top

Again.

But

Holding you

Against my upper body.

Your head

Resting on

My shoulder.

Sound of purring

As my head rests

Against your broad shoulders

Petting your long body.

Fills me

With an inner peace

No drug can give.

Having removed

The more severe clumps

From the shirt

Before heading out

The apartment door.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: As anyone, who lives, with a cat or a dog, knows, you can't escape, from home, without wearing some bit of fur, upon your clothing. Almost, a badge of honour, in showing your love and pride, to the little ones, in your life.

And yes, no animal was harmed or killed, during the writing of this poem. Unless, you feel kissing a cat, upon its forehead, an act of violence.

God Loves, Man Hates (July 15, 2016)

Each second

The circle grows

Tighter

Like a viscous noose

Around my soul.

Every passing day

Am surprised

At my endless supply

Of tears.

Growing heavier

In volume.

Wondering

Will this pain

Ever end?

At what started

As a small trickle

Has become

A raging river

Of blood and tears.

Covering everyone

Regardless

Of one's ethnicity

Nationality

Religious views

And gender.

Shall we

Be able to

Move beyond

Our hatred.

In embracing

Each other

As brothers 

And sisters.

Thus

Showing love

Isn't limited

Just to God

Alone.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Dedicated to, all victims of violence, wherever, you live. 

Yes, I am aware, that the title of this poem, is very similar, as the graphic novel, X-Men: God Loves, Man Hates, published by Marvel Comics. For many years, growing up, I found refuge, in the pages of X-Men comics, allowing me, a place to dream and hope for, a better future, from the violence plagued years of my childhood and into adulthood.

A Day of Blessing (July 14, 2016)

Like a bolt

Of lightening

Out of the blue.

It happened

To me.

Never expecting

To find support

Like I did

Today.

But

Given the darkness

I have been travelling

For the past month.

I accept this

As a blessing

From the Goddess

Herself.

Gracing me

With light

At a dark moment.

Someone

Who I know

Casually

From the local library.

Mistakenly 

He thought

I was Intersex.

Instead of

A transsexual

(Male to Female),.

Although

We do face

Many similar battles

In our struggles

For acceptance.

Think

My gentle explaining

That Intersex used

To be known 

As Hematite 

Helped out.

As we parted

He shook my hand

And told me:

"Never let them

Stop you

In your dream".

As I thanked him

Before parting

Our ways.

A huge reversal

Of what normally

Happens

To a trans-person.

One

Am grateful for

Given the stressful day

It has been

For me.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On July 13th, my apartment was sprayed for cockroaches, and I was forced to relocate the cats, for least 6 hours, in another part of my apartment building. Not to mention, all of the prep work that needed to done, to get my apartment ready, which could only happen, in the final hours, before the spraying was scheduled, to happened. Throughout all of this, the cats were real troopers, and helped to ease some of the stress, I was experiencing, from this departure of my normal routine.

The Call (July 11, 2016)

A soul drowning

In psychic tears

Threatening

To consume all

Body and soul.

Outside

Desperate wail

Of a fire engine's siren

Scream by.

Barely

Able to keep afloat

As "arms" grow weaker

By the second.

Rushing off

To an emergency call

That's life and death

For someone.

Thoughts 

Of surrendering

Grow stronger

To the tears.

Trucks weaves

In and out

Of the holiday traffic.

Gathering darkness

Closes in

One last time

Before

The final silence.

Practiced precision

They stormed up

The apartment stairs

In their mercy quest.

Distance voices

Are heard

Before

They fade away

Slowly.

Loud crash

Announces

The door's opening.

Greeting

The Angel of Death

As She claims

Her latest companion.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The wail of fire engine's siren, past the cyber-cafe, on July 1st, was the inspiration for this dark poem. By the time, I had walked home, the first two stanza were already written, in my head. The rest of the poem would take 10 days, to complete. 

It's true, I suffer from chronic depression that claims me, for several months, throughout the year, I'm not actively suicidal, in seeking my death. Although, i do entertain thoughts of not awaking up, from the previous night sleep. Each morning that I do wake up, a sense of sadness, fills me, in having survived another night, and to having to face another day, as a result.

Through The Valleys (July 12, 2016)

Wish

I could describe

What it means

To be me.

In conveying

The journey

I have undertaken

Just reaching here

At this moment.

Of countless tears

And bloody cuts

Upon my body

And soul.

Of the dark valleys

I have found myself

Trapped

Within.

Raging rivers

Of tears

Carve

Ever deeper

Into my soulscape.

Washing

Parts of my soul

Into the gathering darkness

That threatens 

To consume me.

One piece

At a time.

Of the repressed anger

That burns

With white hot embers.

In fuelling 

Those flames

Of depression

And self-hatred.

To the point

The inner darkness

Blocks out

All light sources.

Sinking

Ever deeper

Into the depth

Of despair.

With

No hope

Of return.

And yet

For reasons unknown

I have moved

Forward.

 

Even though

Death remains

A step behind.

Awaiting

That final dance.

Therisa © 2016