This Corrosion (October 4, 2012)

Feel
Your taint
Coursing through
My body.

Poisoning
My soul
Throughout.

Where
Self-hatred is
The norm
Not the exception.

In
Seeing myself
As a monster
To others.

As
Punches and kicks
Turn my body 
Black and blue.

While
My soul
Whithers away
Upon the caustic
Verbal attacks.

Until
Only a shell
Which you see
Before you
Remains.

Feeling
Full of shame
And despair
About myself.

Therisa © 2012

Author's note: An older darker poem, about my self-hatred and self-loathing, generated from a long history of abuse.

Tears Of A Dreamer (July 9, 2016)

Is it possible

To pardon me

For my crime

Of hubris.

In believing

The United States had

Turned the corner

On its tortured history

Of race relations.

Between

The Afro-American

And "white" communities.

By electing 

Barrack Obama

As president

Twice.

The bitter wounds

From slavery 

And civil rights struggle

Would finally

Have a chance

To heal.

How could I

Be so 

Incredibly wrong?

As the past week

Bleeds out

On the Internet.

Covering me

In the warm blood

Of innocent victims.

Reviving

My own violent experiences

At the hands 

Of total strangers.

Knowing.

Nothing can.

Ever erase.

This shame.

Or guilt.

I live

With.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: As I am writing this, am forced, to take several breaks, as my eyes, are blinded, by the falling tears. May the families, of the innocent victims, be able to find closure, on their tragic lost, this past week.

The Doll And The Beast (February 8, 2016)

www.talexior.deviantart.com

Can feel

The Beast howling

At the soul's gate

Demanding entrance

Right away.

Hastily

It tossed aside

My mental defences.

As if

Cotton candy.

It's razor-sharp talons

Tearing away

My mental walls.

Constructed

Over the years

Hiding away

My dark memories

Of abuse.

Leaving me

To feel like

A rag doll

Being tossed aside

In whatever direction

It wants.

Covered

In various rent

And tears

Across my cloth body.

My stuffing

Leaking out

Like dark blood

Upon the tile floor.

Various shades

Of stitching

Enveloping

My doll's body

Like scar tissue.

Highlighting

The previous attacks

Over the years

By this furious Beast.

Although

Not all stitching

Is visible

To the naked eye.

As invisible thread

Marks

The harsh damage done

To my doll's heart

Over the years.

In wishing

This living nightmare

A bad dream

That would disappear

Upon awaking.

And

The Beast

My loving brother

I never knew.

Alas

Faerie tales like this

Is the stuff

That fantasies

Are made of.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Used to think, I was responsible for my younger brother's action, toward me and my mom. Especially, during the Summer of 1985, when my dad had his first serious heart attack, at the age of 49. Being the oldest, almost of the responsibility of the yard duties, where transferred to my teenage shoulders. While, my younger brother got to live his life, as before, being 12 years old, at the time. As if, I was doing something wrong, to attract his anger, given his past and future history, of unprovoked attacks, upon me.


Ironically, I was told, by my parents, to grow up and not let his antics, trigger me, into a violent reaction, on my part, against him. As my complaints fell upon, the deaf ears of my parents. Thus, he escaped, from any responsibility for his actions against my mom and I, for the Summer of '85. As I relive these days, in my dreams and flashbacks


This August will mark the 9th anniversary, since I told him, to his face that he's dead to me, and the next time, I'll see him, will be, when he's buried 6 feet under. Until then, I won't have anything to do, with him. Having told my mom, this, six years ago, when I reminded her, of the violence that he committed against both of us.