Self-Hatred (January 24, 2017)

An inner darkness

That exist

Consuming all.

And yet

Is invisible

To most people.

Ripping apart

And polluting

My soulscape

With it's toxicity.

As my soul

Spirals downwards

into oblivion. 

Corrosive emotions

Flow through my body

Eroding whatever

Positive self-confidence

I have.

Hot acidic tears

Etching canals

Across my face.

Burning 

Upon contact.

Drowning me

In a soul destroying

Malaise.

As I curse

Myself

For being

A abject failure.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: My first poem for 2017. Wish, it could be brighter than this darkness, I am sharing.

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.

Distant Echoes (July 30, 2016)

Can still hear

Mom and dad

Shouting

At each other.

Guilt fills 

My 6 years old

Soul.

Like

I am responsible

For their verbal fight

That happening

Before me.

Even now

Almost 4 decades 

Later.

The guilt

Still haunts me.

As tears 

Threat to overflow

My tear ducts.

Gushing forth

Like Niagara Falls

Regardless

Of my location

In a public area.

Leaving me

Brimming with curses

At my long term memory

And its ability

To retain them.

Wishing for

Total amnesia

Of any long term

Memory.

Failing that

Then

Death.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For more years, than I care to remember, my long term memory has been able to retains events that I would rather have erased. One of the huge disadvantage of this, is a "Swiss" cheese like short term memory, which I have forgotten numerous conversations, after I or the other person has left. As a teenager, my mom stopped asking me, to get anything from the downstairs pantry, as I would forget her request, by the time, I got to the pantry.