October Rain (October 16, 2018)

Hello Darkness

My old lover

We meet

Once more.

As the Heavens

Open up

With frigid tears

On my face.

Soul cries out

For justice

So long denied

In coming.

Forgotten

What true freedom means

Against the repression

I've lived.

Voice muted

Shouting

Against the sins

You've hid behind.

Words - pale shadow

Of what they were

Not so long ago.

When I stood up

In counting myself

Among your foes.

Now

Nothing more

Than a faded memory.

Like autumn's

Fallen leaves

Filling my soulscape

With their colourful display.

As I wipe

These tainted reflections

From my soul.

Therisa © 2019  

Author's note: I started writing this, as another October storm drenched Toronto, in rain. Darkening my mood, to stay in bed today. As I worked on various poems.

Stigma Of Surviving (February 24, 2014)

Silence

The chain

That binds truth

In lies.

Of the horrors

Committed

In the name of love

And punishment.

Twisting the light

Into a dark parody

Where reality loses

All meaning

Except for pain.

Molding one's soul

Like clay

On a potter's wheel

With deft hands.

As the banshee wails

Outside
The bedroom window

Heralding the death

Of another innocent.

Which

No one hears

Or cares

Until too late.

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: I'm a survivor of child abuse, by a family member, who was, a child, themselves. The abuse was dismissed, as sibling rivalry, by my parents. In recent years, researchers have come forward, in saying, what was thought, as sibling rivalry, in some case, is really abuse/bullying of one sibling, over the other(s). For many years, in my life, I have experienced suicidal thoughts, low self-esteem, and low self-confidence.

I know, not all of this, is strictly related, to my brother's actions, against me, but also includes the bullying, I had to endure, on and off of the schoolyard, by other children, around my age, starting when I started kindergarten, in 1975. Only, to end, when I transferred to another high school, at the end of grade 10, in 1987. Still, for the next 3 school years, almost constantly depressed, to the point, I was attempting to take my life, by pushing a knife, into my ribcage, hoping to puncture my heart or lungs. Only stopped, due to the lack of arm strength to push the knife, into me. 

October's Tears (October 21, 2016)

That time

Of the year

Is fast approaching

For me.

When

Personal

And season darkness

Claims me.

As I sink

Into a downward spiral

Of pain and sadness.

Marking

The beginning

Of my SAD season

Until January.

Before

It clears up

Slowly.

Wish

I could say

Death doesn't play

A huge part

In my life.

But

It does.

As the raindrops

From a mid-October storm

Bathe my face

In wetness.

Hiding

The tears

From everyone's

Sight.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: It's 10 days, before Halloween, and the fall rains have started, in part of the Great Lakes basin, stopping, only when the rain turns to snow, some time, in November/December. The 10 days from November 11th (Remembrance Day) to 20th (Day Of Trans-Remembrance), are about the darkness days, of the calendar, for me. With November 15th, being the anniversary date of my dad's death, in 1998. Also, the anniversary date of my self-acceptance of who I am, Therisa, in 2005, As I stood over, my dad's grave, crying, on a very mid-November day, when I realized, an inner true that I have been suppressing, since August 1977, I am female.

The Caged Bird (May 11, 2016)

Behind

These gilded bars

Of a golden cage

You keep me

As your canary bird.

In the mistaken belief

You're protecting

A fragile

And weak creature.

Expecting me

To be

Your little bird

Of happiness.

Warbling

Sweet melodies

Of love.

Never mind

My soul is

Filled with sad songs

Of the blues.

As depression

Sets in.

Wishing

To spread out

My wings.

Upon

A gentle Spring breeze

With the other birds

In finding

My true love.

Instead

My emaciated body

Barely

Hangs there

Upon the perch.

Waiting for

Death's arrival

And release.

Knowing

You'll never understand

Why I need this

Mom.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A metaphor, for the relationship, with my mom.

My Route Of Escape (April 14, 2016)

Ottawa

The national capital

And my reprieve

However temporary

It may be

From him.

Short of Windsor

Or a northern Ontario

Community location

Being the furtherest university

From here.

Sadly

Putting distance

Between a trauma site

And you

Doesn't mean peace.

A fact

I discovered

In the fall of 1990

As I battled

Severe depression.

During the rainiest

October and November

I have lived

Through.

More than once

I thought

Of jumping

Into a drained lock

Of Rideau Canal.

That forms

One of Carleton University's

Boundaries.

Only

To be dismissed

As homesickness

On my part.

By the university's

Counselling staff

In my first year

There.

Once more

Do I fall

Through

The system's cracks.

Therisa © 2016

The Good-bye (March 1, 2016)

www.brands-list.com

A flower was
Offered to me
With a "Dear Joan" letter.

The flower
A single white rose.

Laying

Beside it

On the kitchen table.

You may think

I'm being selfish

For writing these words

To you.

But

I don't care

Anymore.

For I have

Given you

My best years.

Without

A second thought.

Only

To have you

Repay me

In this way.

Why

Didn't you tell me

About your struggles?

Did you think

I couldn't handle this?

Given

The Hell

We have walked

Through

Together.

Oh

My love.

You know

I would never

Shower you

In pity.

But

Offer you

A shoulder or two

To cry upon

When needed.

Now

Only memories

Are left.

As I see

Your solution

To your problem

Before me.

Needing

To call

911.

Good bye

My love.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Yeah, I know, this poem is a downer, but right now, am feeling very depressed. And is, reflective of my mood.


Am sorry, if I have caused any concerns about me, in regards, to this fictional poem. I have never found myself, in such, a situation.

Throwing Away The Key (February 20, 2016)

www.express.co.uk

Been told

I have travelled far

In this healing journey

Of mine.

And yet

Find myself

Clawing

At the walls

Trying to maintain

My equilibrium.

In being triggered

By the slightest thing

These past few weeks.

Questioning

My grasp

Upon sanity.

In my struggle

With PTSD

And chronic depression.

As if

They're imaginary friends

I have invented

As hold overs

From my childhood.

Wondering.

Is this

The new me

That I have

The pleasure of

Looking forward

To?

Of being

A virtual prisoner

Within my mind.

Never

To experience

What parole means.

Or

Able to remove

These burdensome shackles

Of my hyper-vigilant senses

That bind me

To this plane of existence.

Isn't

A lifetime

Long enough

To punished?

Even

The most dangerous

Of prisoners 

Who are serving

Life sentences

Have a faint hope

Of parole.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: My first exposure to PTSD, occurred, after my electrical burn, to my mouth, in November 1974. Have been told, I was lucky, to have survived, with my mouth being blown out, and not being buried, as a result of this event. Even now, over four decades later, I still experience sensory flashbacks, to that November night. Never had any formal therapy, for this traumatic injury, over the years. Unlike, the visual and auditory flashbacks, I have experienced, from my abusive past, as a child and an adult.

Over the past 9 years, I have had some counselling, but it has been focused, primarily, upon my chronic depression and various anxiety problems. And pharmacological therapy is, a "no go", for me, given my chemical sensitivity, and the side-effects that it generates, in my body.

A Heart's Cry (February 16, 2016)

www.myfinalphoto.com

Across

The Northern expanse

My soul does travel

Seeking refuge.

The Northern wind

Blows cold

Through ones body.

Leaving it

Frozen

To the core.

White tears

Gather around

My eyes.

Before falling

To the ground

In a pile of snow.

As I wonder

Will you

Be there?

When

As I stumble

And fall.

To pick me up

Again.

Sharing my love

With you

Now and forever.

Therisa © 2016

Author's notes: Something different, from me. Will admit, I had Sarah McLaughlin running through my mind, as I wrote. Guess, you could call it, a belated Valentine's Day poem.   

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.

The Jagged Wound (February 1, 2016)

www.williamtollefsonvalues.blogspot.ca

Don't understand

Why I'm being triggered

By these images

Right now.

When

I thought

These memories

Had been dealt

With.

In a safe

And constructive way.

And yet

Tears are streaming

As I find myself

Being transported back

To another place

And time.

Wanting to curl up

Into a foetal position

Hoping to disappear.

Even now

Two days later

Am still

Emotionally

Ripped wide open.

Wondering

How long

Will I need

For these emotional wounds

To scab over.

And for

The healing process

To complete itself

Once more.

This time

Completely.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: On Saturday, January 30, 2016, while looking for images to use with another poem, about identity, I found myself, being triggered by these images. I know these images can't hurt me, but still, I had a very emotional response to them, leaving me, feeling like, a PTSD flashback had occurred. Even now, three days later, am still feeling the residue of that occurrence, as my soul, slowly recovers.

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.