Showing posts with label Abuse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Abuse. Show all posts

Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Palette Of Abuse (April 4, 2017)

The blackest of night
I hide away
In my apartment
Spilling red ink
Upon white parchment.

Reliving 
Those golden days 
Of Summer
Where shame burns
With blue and white flames.

Seeking relief
From the fading
Orche and purple (coloured) bruises
As a blue streak
Erupts from your mouth.

Shattering my rose glasses
With your gray innocence
Before my body browns out
From the pain
And exhaustion.

Knowing
These toxic flashbacks
Are pale echoes
Of a faraway time
And place.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: A writing exercise, which I am using 3 different colours, for each stanza, without repeating any colour, previously used. Leaving the last stanza, without any reference to any colour.

Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Life's Grim Reality (March 6, 2016)


www.globalnews.ca


You call us
Mom sis daughter
Lover and friend.

And yet
For too many of us
Our lives are lived
In terror
Of you.

As we face
Sexual
Verbal
Psychological
And physical abuse.

Even if
We wanted to leave
With our children
The system is
Stacked against us.

With limited
To no shelters
Available
Depending on
Our county.

And those shelters
That do exist
Have a 3 month window.

After which
If we haven't found
Our own place
Are forced back
Into Hell.

Too often
Court orders
And peace bonds
Are worthless
As the paper
They're written upon.

With our deaths
Leading off
The local newscast
The following morning.

Please
I beg you.

Treat every day
Like
It's International Woman Day.

And not
Once a year.

In advocating
For real change
And equality.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note:  As the result of possible budget cuts, Toronto, almost lost one of its emergency family shelter, due to political partisanship. And yes, I have been part of the shelter system, in Toronto, instead of, choosing to move in, with my mom, after losing my apartment, in May 2007. As I faced the possibility of living, with my abusive brother.

Tuesday, 26 January 2016

Why Can't I Be You? (January 26, 2016)


www.motherjones.com

Courage:
[kur-ij, kuhr-]

noun
1.
the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery.
2.
Obsolete. the heart as the source of emotion.
Idioms
3.
have the courage of one's convictions, to act in accordance with one's beliefs, especially in spite of criticism.


A gentle
But sad sigh
Escapes my lips
As tears roll down
My face.

In trying
To find
That inner strength.

That you say
Shines like a beacon
Through the darkness
I have walked
In my journey
To here.

Having lost
Everything of value
To my body and soul.

For this need
Of mine.

Correcting
A genetic birth defect
Being born
Within the wrong body
Of a male.


Which
Society views
As normal.

Despite
Viewing myself
As a woman trapped
Within a male shell
Of a body.

Won't burden you
With the years
Of abuse and bullying
That has marked my life.

Since
I realized
This inner truth
At the tender age
Of four.


Within my head
The voices
Of my abusers
Ringing out.

Cursing me
With such crude
And hurtful language.

No child should
Ever know.

Fuelling their need
For power
And control.

By expressing
Their fear
At that
Which
Is different.

Sadly
As adults
These children
Haven't learnt their lessons.

As the fire
Of transphobia
And homophobia
Burns brightly
In their souls.

Consuming
Whatever remains
Of their logic centre
In a Gray hateful ash.

And yes
There times
I have felt
My life
At risk.

In spite
Of this fact
I move forward
In my healing pilgrimage.

Uniting my body
With the feminine soul
I was born
Within.


Thus
Completing
This cycle.


Therisa © 2016


Author's note: By the age of twelve, I had attempted, at least 3 different times, to end my life, which I have never told my parents, about. My last 3 years of high school, was marked, by a nightly visit to the kitchen, where I tried to pierce my chest, with one of the meat knives, but I lack the strength to push it, into my chest cavity.


After coming out, accidently, to my mom, over the 2006 Canada Day long weekend, she told me:


"Hell would have to freeze over, and I would have to, come crawling on my hands and knees, begging her, for forgiveness, before she would think about it."


Needless, to say, I was thrown for a dark suicidal depression that lasted, the entire month of July. Nearly costing my job, as a result. With the help and support of a very special friend, I wouldn't be here, to share this, with the world. Thank you, Z.


The title of this poem, is a reference to the British Goth group, The Cure, who's dark and melodic tunes have helped me, during my bout of dark depression. Also, refers to my needing to live my life, as a woman, who is...simply elegance.



Wednesday, 20 January 2016

Mt. Melancholy (Janaury 18, 2016)





I find myself
Walking
Under the shadow
Of darkness.

As old memories
Spring forth
Like an avalanche.

Cascading down
The snow covered
Mountainside.

As if
I have taken
The wrong trail
Into a forbidden area
With my ignorance.

Burying me
So deep
In the memories
Of a darker time.

Each passing second
The burden grows heavier
Upon my soul.

Am struggling
To find up
From down
With little avail.

Feeling
My inner spark
Growing dimmer
As the tears fall
Down my face.

Knowing
How easy
It would be
To surrender myself
And let everything
Go.

In my wanting
To remain
In the foetal position.

Until
My oxygen runs out
Fading out
Into the night
Forever.

But
I know
These feeling
Shall pass.

As I dig
My way out
Into the light
Once more.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Not exactly sure, what triggered the events of last Monday, January 18, 2016, when I found myself, buried, under a sudden wave of dark memories. Almost 36 hours later, am still struggling with the aftermath of this, as emotionally, I feel numb, and have lost all contact, with my poetic muse. If I was, to describe this, it feels like a PTSD flashback, without any of the visible images, normally, would have experienced, with one. In being, a total sensory overload of my emotions, in a three hour period, on Monday. Much like the type, I would associate, around my electrical burn, to my mouth, as a four year old.



Saturday, 2 January 2016

Merry Christmas, Therisa (December 30, 2015)

There are times
I must admit
That I feel like
A complete fraud.


As I struggle
With my mental
And physical health.



Wondering
What others see
In me.



Finding myself
Revisiting
A part of my life.



Best
Left alone
And buried
In the deepest cravat
Possible.



As the memories
Are flooding
Forward
In my mind.



Of those dark years
Where Hell was
A place on Earth
For me.



What
Did I do
To raise his irk?



In such
A manner
He needed
To physically
And psychologically
Attack me?



Other then
Being the eldest.



I know
These "what ifs..."
That blow across
My mindscape
Are a deadly toxin.



Threatening
The years
Of painful healing
I have endured.



And yet
Like a small child
I can't stop picking
At these scabs.



In trying
To cleanse
My diseased body
From this tainted past.


Therisa © 2015

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