Naivety's Price (November 26, 2016)

Society talks

About love. 

As if

It was a hyperbole

Of our souls.

In telling children

We will always 

Love them.

No matter 

What.

And yet

For many children

They have nothing left.

But 

This flimsy claim

To hang onto. 

As they're tortured

And abused

At the hands

Of their parents.

Only guilty 

Of being born

Different.

Whether

The wrong gender

Or sexuality.

All the while

Being told

Their punishment is

A sign of love.

Blaming themselves

For not being 

Good enough.

Or should have

Done things

Only differently

The first time.

When

The real fault lies

With the adults.

Leaving the child

To pay

The most horrible price

Their life.

Therisa © 2016

Untitled (June 24, 2016)

Silence

Each passing second

My soul dies

A small death.

Words are replaced

By a flooded soulscape

Meters deep

In tears.

Internalized anger

Builds up

Consuming all.

Until

A black hole

Only remains

Behind.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Wrote this micro poem, on the TTC Rte #23 bus, heading towards the Main St subway station, for my Friday afternoon art program.

On The Edge Of Tears (November 19, 2016)

We look

At the future

With rose coloured

Glasses.

Dreaming

Of an emerging world

Filled with love

And compassion.

Knowing

Our past is

One filled

With extreme prejudice

And violence.

For too many

Of our brothers

And sisters

Have paid

In their lives.

Whether

At the hands 

Of family members

Or complete strangers.

Something

I know

All too well.

Having experienced

Traumatic events

From both.

Almost 

Costing me

My life.

Sitting here

Fighting back

The tears.

Threatening

To unleash

An emotional tsunami

Upon my soul. 

Knowing

Tomorrow is

November 20th

Day of Trans-Remembrance.

Which

My community

Remembers those

Were murdered.

Or driven

To their deaths.

Praying

It's the last time

We must gather

And read off 

New names.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Around the world, the Trans-community will be observing Day of Trans-Remembrance, on November 20th, for our brothers and sisters, who died, at the hands of others. In Toronto, The 519 will marking this event, from 4-8 pm, at 519 Church St., Toronto, Ontario.

Falling Downwards (November 1, 2016)

My eyes are 

Becoming bleary

As the tears

Roll down.

Feelings 

Of guilt and shame

Wrack my soul.

As memories

Stream forth

Of another time

And place.

Where 

I found myself

Praying for death.

Despising myself

For being 

A freak.

Thoughts of death

Flood my mind

As everything

Become a weapon

To me.

Just wanting

The pain

To end.

By any means

Possible.

Even now

Should Death 

Embrace my body

I won't fight Her.

Rather

Just want my pain

To be over.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Before the age of 12 years old, I have attempted suicide, several times, but failed, for various reasons. I haven't felt this down, hopeless and depressed, since the 2010/11 holiday season, when I made my last attempt. November, next to July (my second hardest), is the hardest month, emotionally, for me. Right now, I wish, I had my dad, to cry in his broad shoulders, and have him. give me, the emotional support, unconditionally. Something, my mom has never been able to do,

In A Trump World (November 11, 2016)

Judgment Day

Has come

And gone

For the United States.

Slowly

Reality is

Sinking in

For the world.

As reaction

To Trump's election

Spreads forth

At light speed.

Leaving 

Many people

Nervous.

Echoes

Of election promises

Reverberate down

Empty corridors.

Angry

Hate-filled words

Leaves it mark

On a scared people.

Seeing enemies

In every corner

Of the world.

As they walk

Down this path

Their hearts filled

With despair 

And rage.

Where fiction

Becomes reality.

Without 

A sober second thought

Or logic

To the arguments.

Marking life

For the next 4 years

On this planet.

Therisa © 2016

Breaking Away (November 1, 2016)

If April is

The month of showers

And May

Flowers.

Then

November is

The month of tears.

I say this

As storm clouds 

Gather.

A time of death

And rebirth.

Of family lost

And a soul

That's reclaimed

From the dead.

As the healing process

Works its way

Through me.

Marking

The transition period

From light to dark

And back

Again.

Refusing

To let the pain

Claim me

As another victim

Of hate.

As it has

For too many year

In my life.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Today is, an anniversary date for me, which 3 years ago, I broke off my last contact with my abusive mom. Thus, cutting off, all contact with my biological family. At the time, I had asked her, if it was possible for her, to get my birthday and Christmas gift, at the same time, as the country roads to her home, can become unsafe, from November until April, due to snow. For I had asked her, for help on buying a new winter jacket, for myself. Needless to say, she found countless excuses, why she couldn't help me, when I rarely ask for anything, from me. After hearing her last excuse, I told her, to sod off and want nothing more, to do with her, in my life. 

Am so tired, of having to fight anxiety attacks, playing by her restrictive rules, whenever I want/or need to contact her, of seeing her eyes filled with fear, which she denies. Her refusal to entry my apartment, as if, I have bedbugs, inside. Generally, being treated, as a childish family member, one can barely tolerate, at the best of times. Who needs, all aspects of their live, to be controlled, by an "adult". As if, I was mentally unable to look, after myself.