Fuzzy Friday Thoughts (April 25, 2019)

It’s a dark drury

Friday morning

In Toronto.

Banks of gray clouds

Fill the sky

With supersaturated

Icy cold rain droplets

Ready to fall.

Find myself

Wanting to hide

In my warm dry bed

Sleeping away

This miserable day.

Little ones

Snuggling close

Beside me.

Only leaving

The comfortable bed

For bodily needs

Like food and water.

Leaving the world

In its mad rush to Hell

Alone.

One day

Spent away

From the Rat Race

Won’t hurt anyone.

Where absurd fantasies

Like Donald Trump

Caring for the welfare of

Latin American immigrants

On the U.S./Mexico border.

Or actually cooperating

With Congress

In finally settling

The Mueller’s investigation

Into the 2016 Presidential election.

Are filling my dreams

Of a kinder gentler

U.S. President

We all want.

Hmm

Am I delusional

For wanting this?

Knowing

Reality is

So much more brutal

To one’s senses.

Whatever

Wake me up

When the game starts.

As the latest saviour

Comes to town

In Vladimir Guerrero Jr

For my beloved

Toronto Blue Jays.

Am told

He takes walks

As well.

Therisa © 2019

The "G" Question (April 25, 2019)

Never understood

Your driving need

For me

To embrace your “God”.

Our worldviews

Are so vastly different

Often clashing

Against each other.

Best described

As a generation divide

Between us.

As a child

I’ve known this.

Trying to express

My needs

And failing.

How I despite

The male clothes

You laid out

For the church service.

Often

Passively fighting you

Against attending.

Regardless

How progressive

Or accepting

They are.

At what point

Do you realize

I’m not you

On this question?

I have

Never felt comfortable

In Christian churches.

Like I’m an outsider

Looking in.

Do you realize

How you anger me

With your constant asking

To attend church.

Whenever

I visit you.

Each repetitive request

Widens the gap

Between us.

And yet

You continue

With your requests.

Like you’re dealing

With a 4 year old child

Needing exposure

To a wider world.

And not

A grown adult

I’ve become.

Who rejects

The male dominated society

We live in.

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: I started writing this poem, around 4 am EDT, after Star woke me, wanting

to playing with me.There are times, I want to tell her, “go play with Squeak”, but he’s

sound asleep. So, here I am, writing this poem about the religious difference, between my

mom and I.

The churches that my mom forced me, to attend, as a child, belonged to the United

Church of Canada. One of the progressive and accepting of the LGBTQ+ community.

Having fought for and passed Transgender rights legislation, federally and provincially

(Ontario). Just never felt comfortable, within a Christian Church. Especially, the male

dominated language used, for the symbols of power and spirituality.

Through The Heart Of Darkness (April 24, 2019)

Warning: The following poem contains mentioning of suicidal thoughts/attempt, depression and death. Please stop, if this triggers you.

There are times

I lay in bed

Staring at

My soul’s darkest places.

Pill bottles

All lined up

Ready to open

For that blackest moment.

As wave

After wave of despair

Pulls me

Ever deeper

Into the abyss

Of no return.

Like a forgotten lover

Asking for

One last dance

Rekindling a lost love

For the final time.

As I refuse

Your need/want.

Nine years

Since our last embrace

Around the yuletide log ablaze

Upon the computer screen.

Having since dealt

With 2 prolong bouts

Of agoraphobia.

Which held me

A virtual prisoner

Within my apartment walls

For several months

At a time.

Even

My most recent

Transphobic scare

Won’t deter me

From continuing

My healing journey.

Surrendering means

You win

With your brutist nature

And hate.

Like I did

Almost 42 years ago

In the rural village

Of Erin, Ontario.

Hiding away

Within myself

Until November 15, 2005.

When I emerged

As my true self

Standing over

My dad’s grave.

On the anniversary date

Of his physical release

From mortal pain and suffering

Seven years previously.

So Death

You’ve no hold

Over me.

Having watched

My Oma (cancer)

And dad (heart attack-brain dead)

Fight you

With dignity.

Rather

It is life

I struggle with.

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: I started writing this poem, on Easter Sunday, the first dry day of the Easter long weekend, in Toronto. Needing a way, to vent the darkness that was building up, within me. Hopefully, my last suicide attempt, occurred during the holiday season of 2010-11, when I did have several containers filled with prescription drugs, to OD on. For some reason, I couldn’t do it.

Although, should the need arise, I would choose to end my life, with the dignity of assisted death.

Why Now? (April 24, 2019)

Last night

First time

In several years

I felt scare.

To be out

And about

In my neighbourhood.

A drunk larger man

Challenged my right

To be myself

In a very public place.

For a full minute

After I passed him

On the sidewalk

Rude and obscene comments

Followed me.

Walking towards

A local supermarket

For a quick trip.

I kept quiet

Not wanting

To further escalate

Into physical violence.

Pace of my stride

Never changing

A single step.

As his hand flexed

Around the beer can

He held.

Graphically symbolizing

His physical intention

Should his hands

Get around my neck.

Just writing this

Can feel my anxiety levels

Start to skyrocket

Into full panic mode.

Darm him!

I won’t allow

This knuckledragger

To control my clothes

Or how I present myself.

I have worked too hard

For some drunken ignoramus

To chase me

Into the closet

Again.

So

I sit here

Writing about this.

Knowing

I can’t surrender

To his implied violence

Or my past memories

Of similar situations.

Even if

I’m wiping away tears

That flow

From my eyes.

I am

A survivor.

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: I didn’t see this person, again, on my return trip home. Still, I was shaken by this experience. Am writing this, as part of my Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT), in lessen the impact that this person has over me. I did nothing wrong, beyond having bad luck of meeting this jerk.

Becoming Water (April 20, 2019)

The transition

From a solid

To a fluid.

Healing chemistry

Of a holistic nature.

Regaining flexibility

So long lost

In pain and suffering

Of another lifetime.

Where rigidity is

An armoured shell

Protecting me

From your blows.

Now

A liability

That hinders

My healing process.

As I seek

To move forward

Reclaiming the past

For myself.

Like a gentle stream

That becomes

A fast raging river

Carving its pathway

Through the valley floor.

Displaying

True inner strength

So often

Hidden away

From plain sight.

Flow grows

Increasingly muddier

With my past debris

Stripping away.

A process

That can takes years

If not longer

Before completion.

If

At all.

First step

Is remembering

Being gentle

To oneself.

Isn’t a sign

Of inner weakness.

Rather

An awareness

Of the harmony

That nourishes life.

Enabling me

To move

At my own pace

As I embrace

My new self.

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: The title and inspiration for this poem, comes from a children book, explaining, how melting glaciers become water, at my local library.