Do They Know, Its Christmastime? (December 14, 2018)

In my dreams

Christmas Ghosts visit me

Like Ebenezer Scrooge.

Not foreboding warning

Change my ways

Else death.

Rather

Healing mission

To undo damage done.

Where abuse/ignorance

Have taken their toll.

Unknowingly struggling

With mental illness

Unable to explain

In proper words.

Anxiety/panic attacks

With large crowds

In a small place.

Need for silence

Or empty space

Nowhere to be found.

Easily mistaken

As anti-social.

Oma and opa’s place

Small two bedroom

Bungalow.

Refusal to go

Gravest insult

To dad.

Punishable

By spanking

Any blocking attempts

Increased intensity.

Told stop crying

Or given reason to cry.

Overlapping

Increased explosions

Of my younger brother’s

Anger and hate.

Disrupting festival feelings

Spotlighting him.

Even

As an adult

Fear his reaction.

Would Mr Hyde

Or Dr Jekyll

Show up.

Like his angry refusal

Of gift certificate

From a store

He shops.

Thought

He would attack me

In a murderous rage

Torn the certificate

In half.

Less than

Two years later

I broke off

All relationship.

Not sure

A successful mission

Given the baggage

I carry.

Can only hope.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: In the Christian world, this is the time for peace and good will to all. Yet, for many people, it’s a time of violence and abuse, which they have no avenue for their escape, from this world of hate. For me, escape was time and distance, from my disruptive past. Still, I carry the scars and bruises from this time, on my body and soul.

Coming Full Circle (April 2, 2017)

Star's big soulful eyes

Penetrating deep

Into my soul.

Reaching

Into the farthest corner

With a single glance.

As if

Weighing my soul

Like Ma'at does

With Her feather

Come Judgment Day.

She lays

Upon my lap

Resting

Contently.

Her loud deep purr

Resonates

Throughout 

My entire body.

Like a tuning fork

Being struck

Hard.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: For the past month, or so, Star has discovered the joys of resting upon my lap, as I use my laptop, to cruise the Internet. Prior to this, she would rest upon my lap, after a bath, ahs I sat, on the edge of the tub, gently petting her, until I had to move. A far cry, from November 2011, when I had to lay a trail of kibble, to get Star, out from underneath the toilet cistern, as she was shaking with fear, on her first night, with Squeak, Venus and I. 

Flight Of The Butterfly Soul (May 8, 2015)

http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Gx1r9oyeZd0/TS-6URWa64I/AAAAAAAABXY/buD3Fm0Ng_Q/s1600/Surrealism%2B-Anastasiya_Markovich_Effect_of_Butterfly.jpg

Soft sigh

Escapes my lips.

As I struggle

To explain myself

About the butterfly

Who graces

My true inner soul.

Flying freely

In the late spring sky

On a warm May afternoon.

Knowing

Your skeptical look

Upon hearing

My soul's story.

How I emerged

From my male cocoon

With her.

Tattooed

Upon my entire back.

Freeing me

From my inner darkness

With each stroke

Of her gossamer wings.

As I complete

My metaphoric journey

Into womanhood

And self-acceptance.

Therisa © 2015

Author notes: Written for a contest, on a writing site, that I, no longer use.

Ghost Dancing (August 11, 2014)

Among the shadows

My feet move

Crossing the plane

Of life.

 

Shuffling

In and out

The memory stream

With each step taken.

 

Stirring up

Long forgotten sensations

While my body moves

Between consciousness

And the Dream World.

 

Searching for answers

To questions

Never knew

Existed.

 

Seeking guidance

And wisdom

Where chaos

And doubt

Rule my soulscape.

 

To unite

What was whole

Once more.

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: Written, as I suffered, through, a three month bout of agoraphobia, during the summer of 2014.

Please Standby, As We Are Experiencing, A Temporary Delay (June 17, 2016)

If home is

Where

Ones heart is.

Then

Mine is

A shattered field

Of glass shards.

Haven't felt like

I belonged

To any place.

Since

I have left

My parents' place

For university

In 1990.

Feeling rootless

Like a tumbleweed

That's blown.

Across
The arid landscape

By a desert wind.

As I made

My nomadic journey

To various eastern

And southern Ontario

Communities.

Searching for

That missing

Something.

On a physical

And psychic level

From my life.

Even now

More than 10 years

Into my journey

Of self-discovery

And healing.

Still

A part of me

Feels missing.

Something vital

In the completion

Of whom

I am.

As I feel it

Rubbing against

My soul

Like a small pebble

In a shoe.

But

Unable to find

And remove

This irritating "pebble".

Leaving me

Stuck

In this moment

Of time.

Therisa © 2016

On The Wings Of A Butterfly (June 15, 2016)

balancesf.com

So easy

To let

My negative emotions

Go.

Like the prevailing wind

Carrying

A coal generation station's

Toxic emissions.

Polluting the land

With my hate

And anger

Downstream.

Destroying all

With my acidic touch.

As I struggle

Against the headwinds

Of hate.

That holds

The world

In its grasp

Today.

Knowing

Within my soul

A gentle breeze stirs.

Like

A butterfly flapping

Its wings.

Giving birth

To a new wind

Of change.

One

Filled with hope

And understanding.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For the past 3 days, I have been struggling, to come to grips, with the Orlando Massacre, emotionally, and as, a LGBT+ person. Knowing, I could have been, another stat, to add to the growing tally of LGBT+ people, who have been killed, for being ourselves.

Not exactly sure, why I choose to the butterfly, as a symbol of change and hope, Other then, it's one of the symbols that the Trans-community has adopted, as its own, for growth and metaphorsis of one's true self.

The Lonely Journey (June 8, 2016)

My life is

Not a fad

Like the latest

Reality TV show

On TLC.

Nor

Is it one

That lacks

Inner strength.

Having enduring

Endless rounds

Of conversion therapy

From society.

Free

Of charge.

Bless

Their little

Transphobic

And homophobic hearts.

As I hid

My true self

Deep

Within.

Until

The dormant seed

That is me

Started to bloom.

Bringing forth

An awareness

Whether or not

I want it.

In learning

To listen to

What my heart

And body

Are telling me.

A healing journey

In which

Numerous painful lessons

Have been forced

To confront.

Upon this path

I walk.

Spreading light

And knowledge

In a valley of darkness

And ignorance.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note:  As a child, growing up, I was exposed, to many violent acts, of a physical, verbal and psychological nature. Targeting me, due to my effeminate nature, as a perceived "boy", by society, that many people viewed me, as homosexual. Well, they were partly right, just the wrong gender.

More, Is Less (May 18, 2016

It's the simplest

And yet

Most profound thing

One can do.

As we walk

Upon this journey

Of true

And lasting healing.

In realizing

The most elegant solution

Is the simplest one.

For some people

A paradoxical answer

That confuses

Them.

Conflicting

With their inner

Value system

And learnt ideology:

"More

Is better".

And yet

The opposite

Is true.

Give

Any young child

The choice

Between

A cardboard box

And an expensive toy.

They will chose

The box

Over the toy.

Playing for hours

With the box.

While

The ignored toy

Sits

And collects dust.

A lesson

We need

To remember.

It's the journey

Itself.

And not

One's lavish display

Of wealth

That matters.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: This poem grew out, of the therapy session of May 18, 2016, which I talked about how we approach life, will influence our pace of healing and world outlook. In that, more, isn't better, rather, it's harmful, to our spiritual and healing needs

My Alchemy Project (March 4, 2016)

www.history.com

Before me

A lump of virgin clay

Lays.

Unsure

How to express

Those images

That are trapped

Within my mind.

Just like

A blank page

In my writing book

Awaiting

My creative touch.

As my fingers

Move over

Its surface.

Mixing

The various media

Into a solution.

In my symbolic search

For the philosopher's stone

Of expression

And release.

In giving

Physical form

To the words

Of my poems.

Unleashing

My true artistic vision

Beyond

The written word.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Since January 2014, I have been attending an art studio, which offers an artistic program, for people with mental illness, socially isolated, and those, who are recovering from addictions. It's operated, jointly, by a local hospital and a NGO.

Sadly, I completed my first sculpture, and am awaiting, for it, to dry out, before it can be fired for the first time, and painted, before the second and final firing. Mostly, as the result, from my own battle, with anxiety and agoraphobia.

My Purring Panther (February 26, 2016)

Star, as kitten, on my dirty laundry.

Not sure

Why our paths crossed

As they have

Over 4 years ago

Star.

Except

Your very presence

Has offered me

A very rare gift

Of love and compassion.

From someone

Who has known

The toxic touch

Of being abused

And abandoned.

Of how

On your first night

You hid

Under the toilet cistern.

Scared

Out of your mind

With fear.

As I laid

A trial of kibble

From the bathroom

To the centre

Of my heart.

Little

Did I know.

The healer

Would become

The one

Who is

Being healed.

As I watch you

Over the months

Grow and heal

Into your true self.

Greeting me

Every time

I enter

Our shared apartment.

With your deep purr

And a gentle kiss

For me.

Forever leaving

Your paw print

Upon my beating heart

As you snuggle

Against me.

While

Laying down

To rest

For the coming day.

As I give you

Star

My daily thanks

For you're being

A part of my life.

Therisa © 2016

Author's notes: Am sorry, I don't have any decent photo, which shows Star, at her true self, as she is, extremely camera shy, whenever, I attempt to get a photo of her mature self, beyond the few of her, as a kitten.

Family Ties (February 15, 2016)

Once more

It's the third Monday

Of February

As Ontario celebrates

Family Day.

You'll pardon me

If I don't join you

In its observance.

For

I am

A survivor

Of domestic violence

By a family member.

Even now

Almost nine years free

Of his physical presence.

But

His shadow

Still impacts

My daily life.

In being

Hyper-vigilant.

Jumping at

Any sudden

And loud noise

Like an argument.

Or

An apartment door

Being slammed shut.

Cursing

My long term memory

For capturing

In 4K detail

His attacks.

Of me

Cowering

In my barricaded bedroom

Crying myself

To sleep

In my late teens.

Wishing

I had died

From my electrical burns

In November 1974.

Can understand

Why some victims

Of abusive relationships

Kill their attackers.

Only recently

I have admitted

In wishing

I had killed him

After his preemie birth

In October 1972.

Thus

Sparing me

Decades of pain

And sorrow.

But

I realize

The road of "Only if"

Will lead me

Further astray

In my healing.

As I travel

The long and difficult path

OF reclaiming my life

One memory

At a time.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: This poem is, one of my most exhausting mentally and physically that I have written. It took me, 9 hours and 15 minutes, to do this. Needing several long breaks, to just write the first draft, in my writing workbook, yesterday. Not to mention, the 2 hours needed to transcribe this, onto one of e-mail accounts, before posting it, here. Right now, I can feel my stress levels reaching the point, I am  having, the beginning, of a very nasty tension headache.

Therisa Scriptor Pax (January 9, 2016)

www.cares2.com

Silence

The sound

I welcome.

And yet

Dread.

In wondering

If this lull is

Another trap

To ensnare me

In harm's way.

Or

The first moments

Of a lasting truce.

Unknown

To me

Until now.

Being able

To trek

Across my soulscape

Without stepping on

A landmine.

Or

Having a sniper

Taking verbal shots

With deadly accuracy

To my soul.

Degrading me.

As if

I have

No absolute value.

Laying to rest

These painful

And toxic memories

Of abuse

Into their graves.

Able

To sleep

A full night rest.

Without being awakened

By the slightest touch

Or sound.

More importantly

No more flashbacks

Or night terrors.


Therisa © 2016

Prepping For Soul Soup (January 13, 2016)

Photo from http://www.hubpages.com

Sitting down

With a paring knife

And a cooking onion

In my hands.

Taking my time

To ensure

No fingers are nicked

By the slicing blade.

Pruning back

The dry and crumbly

Dead layers

Into the garbage bag.

As if

I'm paring back

My life

Before me.

Trying not

To rub

My burning eyes.

Whose tear ducts

Are overflowing

With sadness

From past memories.

With each layer

I have removed

Before placing it

On the cutting board.

All the time

Wishing

I was handling

Its milder cousin

The Leek.

For the soup pot.

As a stray hand

Starts rubbing

An eye or two.

Trying to ease

The stinging

I feel.

Knowing

It's a task

I have to face.

As crying

Is cathartic

For ones soul.

In removing

The dead memories

We have gathered

Over our life.

Allowing us

To move on.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: This poem is, my 2500th written one, since I started writing poetry, on March 31, 2007, as suggested to me, by the group moderator, of my M2F support group, at the 519, in Toronto.

Opening Up One's Eyes (November 7, 2015)

Courtesy of www.newwayministery.wordpress.com

In my mind

The old Negro gospel

"We shall overcome"

Is being sung

Before my eyes.

Looking back

More than 60 years

In the struggle

For Civil Rights

And true equality.

Of the many senseless deaths

Which mark

Our journey forward

From the darkness

Of hate and fear.

Despite

The many legal battles

Fought and won.

Still

I feel like

A third class citizen

In the country

I was born

In.

With it's rigid hierarchy

That places

Anyone

Who is different

On the outside

Looking in.

Tolerating us

Like a boorish family member

They want

To disappear.

I wish

You could experience

A week

In my shoes.

Confronting

The societal

And institutional barriers

You've erected

Over the centuries.

In keeping

Yourself

Safe

From the reality

Of my life.

Realizing

Your position of power

Is paid.

At a heavy price

By people

Like myself.


Therisa © 2015

Author's note: This is, one of two poems that I wrote for Day of Trans-Remembrance, November 20, 2015. The other one, titled, "The Crater", is in the process of having a clay ceramic statue being created, as I write this. Am hoping, I can have it painted and done, its second and final firing. Thus, being able to post together, here.


For those, who are just discovering me, I have survived numerous attempts on my life, from a family member, whom I have broken off, all ties with, since August 2007. Also, have threatened, by various individuals, who have chased me, on foot or by rode the back of my legs, with their car, while laughing, about it. As if, it was one huge joke, with me, being the punch line, to it.


And sadly, I have tried, on numerous occasions, to take my life, when my depression has reached, such dark levels, the bottom of the Black Sea is a brilliantly lit walk, in the park, by comparison. With my last attempt occurring, during the holiday season of 2010-11.

The Long Run (January 4, 2016)

You think

I would be

Jumping

Over the moon.

Upon achieving

This milestone

Of five years.

Since

My last suicide attempt.

And yet

A sense of sadness

Fills me.

As the tears stream

Silently

Down my face.

Dreading

The coming month

That January is

For me.

Marking

The coldest month

Of the year

Leaving the soul

Bitterly fragile

To the touch.

Each black "X"

Upon the calendar page

Symbolizes

One less day.

Until

The end

Of this race.

And

February's arrival

With its coming thaws.


Therisa © 2016

Author's Note: The month of January, marks the end, of my annual Fall/Winter depression, which has traditionally, seen an increase, in my suicidal feelings, with the two dark periods of November 11th-20th, and December 24th-January 2nd. January 3, 2016, marked the fifth anniversary, of my last suicide attempt, since the holiday season of 2010-11. Also, the first time, since then, I have found myself, on the edge between passively and actively suicidal, with my suicide index, at 5, out of 10. Where 10 means, I have committed suicide, and someone else is writing about my death to you.

Who's That Girl (January 2, 2016)



Few moments ago

I was described

As a "girlie-girl"

By another tenant

In my apartment building.

Yes

It's true.

I love

To take long bathes

With lavender

Or other scented fragrances

In the water.

While

A single candle burn

By the side

Of the tub.

In preferring

The sweet scent

Of Vanilla Black Cherry

Or Blueberry baked goods.

But

It's one

Of many labels

That I have trouble

In accepting

For myself.

Just

As I find myself

Struggling

At time

With these labels:

"Survivor"

"Courageous"

"Strong"

And "difference maker".

To name

A few.

Leaving me

To wonder

Who's this person

People are talking about.

For I see

A woman

Who's struggling

With major physical

And mental health problems.

Maybe

The true answer

Lies

Somewhere

In the middle.


Therisa © 2016

Author Note: On November 15, 2005, is the day, which I came out of the gender closet, as a transwoman (ie transsexual), after several emotional and stressful months, while standing over my dad's gravesite. Since then, I have swung, both ways, from being, a girlie girl, to an androgynous look. Especially, on those days, which my anxiety or depression levels are ballistic, as a result of my PTSD and memories of abuse.

Lucky Star (January 2, 2016)

An origami paper star

 

Oh Star

On my blackest night

You shine

Like the brightest light

In the Heavens.

As you lay

Upon my lap

Your black fur

Drenched

With my tears.

Returning

The love and gentleness

I have shared.

Since

Your arrival

Four years ago.

As a rescued kitten

Who had been

Physically abused

And tossed aside.

Even now

You follow me

Around the apartment.

Like a lost soul

Seeking a place

To call

Your home.

Whether or not

You realize it

Star.

You have

Already

A place

To call

Home.

In my heart

Since

That cold November night

In 2011.

Now

Move over

And share my bed

With me.
Therisa © 2016

Photo of Star, as a kitten