Finessing Zero Tolerance (February 6, 2019)

Soul filled with ignorance and hate

Lashing out at specific targets

Dismissed: boys being boys

Generating another cycle

Silently endured

Harmed.

Healing

Speaking out

Breaking the circle

Starting with children's parents

Breaking down the cultural differences

Filling children with knowledge and compassion.

Last line of defense against abusers

In dealing with young children

Age appropriate punishment response

Using outright expulsion

No one

Wins.

Therisa © 2019

Author's note: As many people know, I have experienced bullying/abusive behaviour, for most of my life, as reflected in my poetry. This may shock some people, but I have trouble applying zero tolerance policy to children, who are strongly influenced by their parents' attitudes, (religious beliefs) and behaviour. I think that society has swing too far, in the other direction, in the punishing of these abusive kids. Who, in many cases, are the victims of abuse/bullying, themselves. How we judge and punish these children, must be flexible and fitting to the crime committed. One size fit all, only creates a harmful environment that these zero tolerance policies are trying to eliminate. Local board policy should act, as a guideline for state/provincial/territorial legislation, in handle these types of crime of power.

This experimental poetic form, I am thinking of calling it, "roller coaster". It breaks down, in the following stanzas:

1st stanza:  6 words/5 words/4 words/3 words/2 words/1 word

2nd stanza: 1 word/2 words/3 words/4 words/5 words/6 words

3rd stanza:  6 words/5 words/4 words/3 words/2 words/1 word

Three stanzas for a total of 63 words.

Written for Poets United's midweek motif, using the word prompt of: zero tolerance.

A Sad Reality (May 19, 2016)

Silence

Cut the soul

Like a hot knife

Through butter.

As it weeps

Bitter salty tears

That corrodes everything

They touch.

Turning

A confident young child

Into a cowering baby.

Scared

Of its own shadow

And loud noises.

The punches

Fall like

A steady rainstorm

Upon the body.

The runoff collects

In red pools

Staining everything

In a shade of rust.

That comes

Into contact

With it.

People

Gather around

To watch

The latest

Afterschool fight.

Letting loose

Their blood thirsty

Savage side

In a circle of hate.

Where

All rules of war

Don't exist.

Except

Just win.

"Forget

That poor excuse

Who got pommelled

Within inches

Of their life.

"Join the crowd

In celebrating
The glorious victory

Over that wimp."

Never mind

The victor is

Most despite bully

In the school.

Or that

The vanquished

Will go home

And attempt suicide

Tonight.

Only failing

Because

The knot came

Loose.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: There are elements of my own life, interweaved, within the above poem. As for those people, who think, things will get better, are totally out to lunch, in believing a simplex slogan, will change a person's life. Sorry, honey that only works, in Hollywood. What is really needed, is a strong supporting network that breaks through the sense of isolation, which is compounded by a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, that this type of oppression will ever end.

I think, if this type of support had existed, for me, during the 1970s and 1980s, I wouldn't be so traumatized and suffering severely, from mental illness, like I am. I know, only speculation, on my part, but leading thought is proving that measures that support and break through isolation, will reduce occurrence of mental illness and suicide attempts. Something, the current health system has been short, in delivering.

Why I Hate Applesauce (March 18, 2016)

Once more

I find myself

Back

In the village

Of Erin, Ontario.

As if

The sands of Time

Had shifted backwards

Thirty-eight years.

To that fateful day

In 1978

When I learnt

A harsh lesson

In anxiety.

For I had shattered

My latest bully's

Front upper teeth

At the gum line.

A sobbing wretch

I arrived home.

With my broken

Thor lunchbox

And soiled winter jacket

Covered

In applesauce.

Can still hear

Those little angels

That surrounded us

Demonically

Calling for blood.

In the kitchen

Did the fight

Unfold

To my mom.

Between sobs

And blowing

My running nose.

Over

The next month

Or so.

We waited

For the dreaded knock

From the OPP

At the front door.

Charging me

With assault

Causing bodily harm.

Nothing happened

Except

Robbie (the bully)

And his family

Moved to Calgary.

(As reported

By the grapevine).

Never saw him

Again

That I know of

Beyond

The flashbacks.

Therisa © 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.

source: www.dictionary.com

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.