Showing posts with label Looking back. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Looking back. Show all posts

Tuesday, 19 November 2019

November Blues (November 7, 2019)

Wednesday
November 13, 2019
Fourteenth anniversary
Of my rebirth
As Therisa.

Wish
I could say
It's a pain-free procedure
For everyone involved.

Knowing
These scars are
Open seeping wounds
That'll never heal.

Mom
Uncomfortable acknowledging
My changed status
From son to daughter.

She doesn't write
"Therisa"
In cards sent.

Never admit
Fear rules her
When I see her eyes.

Or excuses made
Whenever
Mall shopping
Is suggested.

Not asking her
To accompany me
Buying lingerie.

Rather
A winter coat
Or jeans.

Given mom's age
Of 80 years old.

Can't wait
Holding my life
In a stalling pattern.

Wasting time
On an off chance
She'll change
Her mind.

Sadly
What should be
My happiest day
Is my saddest.

Therisa © 2019  

Author’s note: Relationships are a two way street. Unfortunately, my mom can’t meet me in the middle.

Wednesday, 3 April 2019

Daydream Believer (February 27, 2019)


It was a different place
From the small rural village
That I live in
At the time.

Magical make-believe world
Where music and humour
From another time
Opened my eyes.

Laughing and crying
At the zany impossible plots
Of every episode
Singing to the songs.

Never grasping
Cynical commercial crastness
That played upon
My naive innocence
As a young child.

Racing home
After the final bell had rung
Marking school's end
And tv's time starts.

Rightly or wrongly
Television was viewed
By a different lense
In the latter half
Of the 1970s
From today's standards.

Engaging
This fantasy realm
Where dreams are born
In a tinkling of an eye
And opening notes
Of a song.

Forever faded
Into childhood nostalgia
Sugarcoating reality
With a fondness
Never to be repeated.

Long after
The dreamer has awoken
And forced to faced
Reality's ugly truth.
Life goes on.

Therisa © 2019

Author's note: Goodbye, Peter Tork. Thank you, for the childhood memories.

Saturday, 1 December 2018

Summer Of '85, Revisited (November 26, 2018)

Warning: May contain scenes and situations that are triggers.

You think
By now
Summer of “85
Be distance memory.


Sadly not.


Too many tangled knots
Need straightening out
And secrets share
To move on.


Never shall.


Toxic relationship
Between mom
Younger brother
And I.


Wanting real reason
For the shitstorm
Returning home
Visiting family
In Alberta.


Special relationship
Peanut and dad had
Can only dream of.


How it changed
Seeing dad
In a CCU bed
Wired with cables and tubes.


First heart attack
We know of
On Canada Day.


Born premature
Peanut is a narcissist
Sought our parents’ spotlight
Finding things easy.


Attacked me
All ways
Except sexually.


Blame myself
Too weak to stop him.


Enrage berserker
In 12 year old body
Fueled by caffeine and sugar
Needing two adult males
To restrain him.


Several times
Tried to kill me
Coming behind
Pushing my body
Down stairs.


Before jumping
Several stairs above
My prone body
On the landing below.


Only mom’s shielding me
Prevented him
Crushing my ribs
Under his flying body.


Could have
Puncture lungs/heart
Sanguinating
Before help arrives.


Why did mom tell me
Don’t call the police
But allowed a neighbour?


Clearly
Peanut was
Out of control
Beyond our ability
To help.


Scared
CAS would take
Peanut and I?


Judging her
An unfit parent
Juggling a job
Raising two children
With a sick husband.


What really ticked off
This walking time bomb
Of hate?


In Peanut’s
Abnormal display
Of violent grief
To dad’s hospitalization.


Understand
His not wanting
To visit dad.


Not personalized nature
Of the attacks
On mom and I.


Looking back
This has all of the markings
Of mom trying to protect me
In her shielding of reality.


Like I’m 4 years old
Coming upstairs
With mouth blown open
From electrical burn.


My first words
“Dad had a heart attack”
Upon meeting mom
At the airport arrivals.


Not hello
Or hi mom.


Mom hates driving
On the 400 series highways
Does anything to avoid them.


And yet
She’s picking me up
With a neighbour.


Sigh.


Just adding
2 +2
And getting 4.


Will admit
My immaturity
Didn’t help mom.


Silently
Struggling with gender identity
Learning disabilities
Undiagnosed PTSD anxiety
And depression.


Just every day
Teenage angst issues
Nothing more.


Therisa © 2018


Author’s note:


Peanut: Nickname that my parents give to my brother, due to his small size, as the result of
his premature birth. He hates it, with a passion. Reason that I use it. Also, I don’t like using
his birth name, as it’s a very common name.


Canada Day: July 1st. Celebrating the British North American Act, which united the
colonies of Upper and Lower Canada, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, as the Dominion of
Canada.


CCU: Critical Care Unit, in the hospital.


CAS: Children Aid Society. They look after children, who are taken into care, for various
reasons.


Have written this, attempting to understand, why I blame myself for the evil done that
summer. Even now, am fighting back the tears of shame and pain, I have so long
suppressed behind mental walls. Obeying mom’s request, not to tell anyone, until decades
later. When I needed to share this, in my trans support group. Was truly shock, one member
wanted to punch out my brother, for the things that he did to mom and I. Never had anyone
react like this, in my defense before.

As much, as I don’t want to, I need to share with you, the poem that sparked this emotional
output and still haunts me, Summer of ‘85: Season in Hell, which I wrote, in 2012. Be warn,
should you read it, this poem may contain triggers, for those, who are abuse survivors, as
it did to myself.

Wednesday, 9 March 2016

A Side Trip Through Hell (March 6, 2016)

www.thewomenofchange.com

It's been 9 years
Since
I have quit
My last job
In utter frustration.

As
I found myself
Working in
An increasingly
Hostile environment.

With little
To no support
From management.

Know
I could have taken them
To the Labour Board
Or the Human Rights Commission
Over their actions.

But
Fuck'em
I needed out
Of there.

For the sake
Of my health
(Mentally
And physically).

Working
A minimum week
Of 50+ hours
Over 5 days.

On top of
A daily commute
Of a 3 hour
Round trip.

Never mind
My asking
To work
An 8 hour shift
Every fortnightl.

To attend
A support group
In Toronto.

Was like
Trying to remove teeth
From someone
Who has none.

As I tried
To transition
In this working Hell.

Looking back
Am better off
With less money
And stress.

As I take it
Slow
But constant steps
In my holistic healing.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: At the time, I was working for a small company located near, Pearson International Airport, in Mississauga, Ontario. When, I did quit, I tossed all of the inbound receipts, into the air, like Mary Tyler Moore did, with her hat, at the beginning, of her 1970s show. Not caring, where they landed.

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