3093: Why The Poetic Ink Flows (April 1, 2019)

From my words

Does darkness bleed

Before you.

Of sorrows

Humanity has casted

Against itself.

Where being yourself

Is a dangerous thing

Signing a contract hit

Upon oneself.

Where ignorance fueled hate

Has long reign supreme

In treating minorities.

Regardless

Visible or not.

Being transgender

Can feel the rope

Tighten against my neck

Digging in.

Strange fruit hanging

From the roadside

On nearby trees

Gently swaying

In the nighttime breeze.

To many people

Just another lynching

One f--king less tranny

Who cares.

I do.

As tears flow

Remembering those times

The bullying/abuse

Forced to endure

Over the years.

Hoping beyond hope

All future generations

Can be spared

This wasted negative energy

I've lived through.

Writing this

A little corner

Of my brighted soul

Is exposed and unlocked

To the healing

So badly needed.

Therisa © 2019

Author's note: On March 31, 2019, the 11th International Transgender Day of Visibility was

observed. My poetry is, one way that I share with others, the pain and suffering,

transgender people have endured and are overcoming. Especially, given my

experiences are, of the extreme end of the spectrum for bullying and abuse. Not all

transitions are gentle and peaceful, for those, involved.

Not sure, I'll be sharing, with a group, as right now, I'm feeling emotionally drained, so many

levels. Ironically, the sun is shining brightly, outside my apartment window. Go figure.

Solitude Standing v.2.0 (March 26, 2019)

Across the great divide

I stand alone

With my memories

Lost in time.

Bitter tears falling

From swollen red eyes

Into shallow lakes

That floods my soulscape.

My soul scattered

In all directions

By the 4 winds

That blow across me.

Falling ever deeper

Into the depth of despair

Which threatens

To destroy me.

Reliving a past

Best forgotten

So long repressed

In self-hatred

And recrimination.

Where my needs

Have become

A living nightmare

That poison my spirit.

Daring to dream

A different reality

For myself

And my body.

Crossing boundaries

Physically and spiritually

So long denounced

As societal taboos.

In chasing

Hopes and dreams

That speak of acceptance.

Therisa © 2019

Author's note: Written for Poets United midweek motif (March 27, 2019), using the word prompt: solitude.

Claiming My Soul (October 27, 2018)

Times

Find myself

Emotionally/mentally paralyzed

Blame game playing.

Moves/things

Should've done differently

Mentally flailing my soul

Dark bloody rivulets

Mars my soulscape.

Each rivulet

Different “what if”

Or “should've done this”

Scenario unfolding.

Guilty conscience byproduct

Indelible inked numbers

Tattooed on soul.

Should've stopped

Bullying and abuse.

Poisonous game/trap

Inviting self-pity

Corroding soul's foundation.

Spiralling downwards

Cruelest darkness

Trapping one's soul.

Lashing out

Violence with violence

Admitting victory

Hate filled people.

This isn't

Who I am

As a person

Fought hard against.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: As finishing this poem, I saw on CBC.ca, the shocking news about Pittsburgh’s Synagogue murders, this morning. I won't pretend to know, what motivates such a hate crime. To the families of all victims, I offer my condolences, in this time of sorrow.

Sadly, placing armed guards around places of worship, won't solve this anger/intolerance that some people have to others, who are different. As a Canadian looking in, outside the United States, I don't see this happening any time soon. Where love and compassion guide people’s hearts, instead of hatred and violence.

My Story (September 27, 2018)

July 1, 2018

Twelfth anniversary

Healing process started

Mom rejecting me

As her daughter.

Decades

Previously lived

Life of denial

About abusive/bullied past

And who I am.

Internalizing

Pain and shame

Associated with abuse/bullying

Behind porous mental walls.

Suffering

Abject silence

Mental health crisis.

Paralyzing flashbacks

Tsunamis of uncontrollable rage

Crippling body and soul

Reliving brutal memories

Thought forgotten.

People ask

“Why didn't you tell someone?”

I did

Damn it!

Told

Stand up

Defend myself

Punished-doing so.

Or

Warned to silence

By a parent.

Else

Ignored

When help sought.

Any wonder

Most cases of abuse/bullying

Never get reported

Given these reactions.

As if

Collateral damage

On life's highway

Like roadkill

Pushed to the shoulder.

Viewed

Never observed

By passing drivers.

Not wanting retraumatization

In a hostile environment

A court case/civil suit

Would involve.

Attacking every aspect

Of my life

By the legal system

In its adversarial nature.

Regardless

Statute of limitation

Have expired.

Never shall

These memories

I have lived

Ever be denied

Again.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: As I write this poem, the U.S. Senate is holding a Judiciary Committee hearing into allegations that Supreme Court justice nominee Judge Brett Kavanaugh had sexually abuse a woman, while in high school, at a house party. Before recommending his candidacy be voted on, by the Senate, in an up and down manner.

Personally, I believe Dr Blasey Ford and the other women, who have come forward with their experiences, regarding Judge Kavanaugh. Facing personal attacks from total strangers that amount to abuse and criminal harassment. Something, I don't have the internal courage to do so.

Some will argue that the events of high school and university, shouldn't dictate, how we view Judge Kavanaugh’s appointment to the U.S. Supreme Court. Problem is, it does. There is too much at stake, to let this be dismissed, as boys being boys. For we're responsible for our actions, regardless, of our age, when they happened. There is no excuse for any type of abuse.

Should Judge Kavanaugh win the nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court, it'll mark a huge step backwards for the United States. If so, I hope the Republicans lose control of the Senate and House of Representatives. Trump needs a counterbalance to his destructive policies.

FYI: I have chosen Tori Amos’ Crucify (1992), as she sings about her own rape experience. I know, I have experienced similar feelings about my own abusive/bullying past. Thank you, Tori, for so elegantly expressing the pain that many abuse survivors live with.

Society's Wilderness (July 18, 2018)

I don't remember

Who was the first person

That I taught me

How to hate myself.

It may have been

My younger brother.

Or the kids

In the rural schoolyard

Upon starting kindergarten

Attacking verbally

And physically

For being different.

Not sure

If it's a mercy

Or a curse.

Having forgotten

Those young boys’ name

Who taught me

Being openly transgender

Is playing Russian Roulette

With one's life.

In publicly saying

I wanted to be

Wonder Woman

At the age of 7

During the 1970s.

Spending the next 28 years

In destructive self-denial

Thoughts of daily self-harming

Never far away.

Viewing life

A living death penalty

Without any appeals

Or hint of parole.

Hoping

Never waking up

Next morning

After a night’s sleep.

Anger grows

Having survived

Through the night.

As I move around

The edges of society

Seeking the promised land

From the wasteland

I have walked.

Therisa © 2018

Author's note: From most of my life, I have endure the verbal, physical and mental abuse from others, because I was different. In the case of my family, my mother smothered and manipulated me, taking every major decision out of my hands, as she tried to protect the 4 year old child, who came upstairs, with her mouth blown wide open from electrical burns. As for my younger brother, he’s a narcissistic person, who needs the attention of others.

A poem for Poets United’s midweek motif writing prompt: wilderness.