An Angel's Tears (June 13, 2015)

Often wonder.

How

Is it possible

For parents

To be clueless

About their own children.

Never realizing

Their child is

Different

From others.

As if

They had raised

A changeling

Instead.

And not

A child

Who is transgender

Gay lesbian

Or bisexual.

Denying

The reality

They have lived

For several years.

As their delusions

Are proven

An illusion.

In hearing

A single sentence

Being spoken

By a nervous

And anxious child:

"Mom

Dad

I'm ....."

Dropping

A heavy veil

Between parent

And child.

Which

Nothing can lift

As the tears flow

Upon a page.

Saying

A final good-bye.

Therisa © 2015

Author's note:June is, the anniversary month, which the LGBT community marches, in memorial, of the Stonewall Riots (1969), in New York City. The first Pride March occurred, in 1970, in the American cities of New York, Chicago, San Francisco and Los Angeles. Similarly, Toronto's Pride March was generated, by 1981 police bathhouse raids, which has grown, into one of the world's largest celebration of LGBT+ community. 

For the record, my mom rejected me, when I outed myself, to her, on July 1, 2006. In the following days, I slipped, into a dark and suicidal depression, which almost claimed me, except for the help of a dear friend, from Texas.

Heart And Soul (February 10, 2008) (Original formatting)

Outside, the world was covered

In a blanket of white

Slowly, dissolving

Under an unusual early February rain

Looking like moths

Been feasting on a wool blanket.

Matching my mood

As an old comfortable blanket

Discarded, for not giving anymore warmth

Toss away

Without a second thought

Passed the best before date.

Where did we go wrong

I keep, asking myself

Even though, a year has passed

The hole in my soul, hasn't healed

Instead, it has festered and become infected

Spewing out puss.

Why did you choose leave, than

You knew about the weather forecast

What the back roads are like

At this time of the year

Barely passable, at best

Otherwise, treacherous.

Knew how you hated

The time, that i've to work late

Worrying about my long drive home

Frantically, pacing the hallway

Til, i enter the house

Greeting me with passionate hugs and kisses.

Realizing, i wouldn't finish on time

Phoned you, to break the bad news

Promising to pick-up dinner

You seemed distance

Wish, i knew why

Would give up my job for you.

Murphy's Law

How i hate it

Everything went wrong at once

Delaying me, an extra hour

Only, if that hadn't happened

You may still be here.

But, no

Fate had other plans for us

Pulling up, the long snow swept driveway

I saw a sight

Forever engraved in my mind

And, heart.

Police cruiser, parked in front of the house

Fear filled me

Imagining the worse

Never expecting it, to happen

Slowly, i approach the cruiser

Dinner, in hand.

Young female officer

Stepped out of the cruiser

Approaching me, with a grim face

Stopping, i dropped the take-out

Fainting

Quickly, she caught me.

"Ms, are you alright"

Wanted to snarl at her

Do, i look alright

But, held my tongue

Slowly, regaining control

Brushing the snow from my body and the take-out.

You followed me, into the house

Before, speaking

Sitting at the empty kitchen table

You broke the news

Not possible

You're lying to me.

Flashed through my mind

As anger, turn to grief

Tears, running down my face

Hope, a faint glimmer on the horizon

Asking you, the question

I dreaded to hear, confirmed.

"Is Miriam, ok

Did she survive"

Please, let her live

Begging, silently

"Was Miriam, your daughter?"

A question, rather than an answer.

"Yes"

Quickly, i answered

Feeling the weight of the world upon me

Barely, hearing your reply

"I'm sorry"

No,no, not my baby, too.

Past year, was a blur to me

Don't even remember

Who made all of the funeral arranges

Slipping through the year

In a haze of tranqs and anti-depressants

Until, now.

Carefully, sweeping the grave marker clean

I stood, silently

First time, back since the graveside service

Need to put yours and Miriam's spirit at rest

Before moving on

As, i heal.

"Goodbye, Sarah

Take care of Miriam, for me"

Digging into my pocket

Removing Sarah's unread letter to me

Lighting the letter, with a lighter

Letting the wind scatter the burning ash.

Without, a second glance

I headed away

The world seemed a little colder place

As, if my heart had perished, too

Tears streaming down my face

As, i leave my buried heart and soul.

Therisa © 2008

Giving A Name (October 12, 2018)

I write this

Personal knowledge/experience

(In abundance)

Living with mental illness.

Good days

Never know

Looking at me.

Dark days

Simple things

Near impossible task.

Overcoming barriers/stigmas

Society erected

Seeking help.

Wait lists-year or longer

Many programs

Budget cuts.

Reluctant CBT referral

Fought for it.

And yes

Transphobic psychiatrist

(They exist).

Best intentions

Paved Hell’s Highway.

Tough love-inspiration talks

Veiled personal attacks

Mental/physical character

Mistaken thought-motivating.

Delicate vase

Shatter-wrong word

Talking blocked.

Shunned-wrongly thinking

Typhoid Mary

Infecting everyone.

Sighing.

One in four people

Experience mental illness

Starting early teens.

Statistic-by eleven

Suicide attempt.

Globally

Little/no access care

800,000 suicides

Annually.

Therisa © 2018

Author’s note: On October 10, 2018, I came across The Guardian op-ed that Lady Gaga
and Dr Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus (Director-General, World Health Organization)
co-wrote for October 9th edition, marking World Mental Health Day. Here’s the link to
The Guardian op-ed:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/oct/09/lady-gaga-mental-health-global-emergency-suicide

For The Record: For most of my life, I have struggled with various mental illnesses, without
realizing myself or those around me. In December 2007, I was officially diagnosed as being
chronically depressed, several anxiety disorders, agoraphobic, justifiably paranoid (I dispute
this, as the psychairist was transphonic) and PTSD. This psychological assessment was
ordered, as part of my application for Ontario Disability Support Program (ODSP), which
supports Ontarians with mental and physical disabilities. My application was approved after
2 months of being received by ODSP. Unusually fast, as they’re traditionally known to reject
applications on general principles. Guess, it helped that I had just come out of a homeless
shelter, in July 2007, when apply for ODSP.

This poem is written for the Poets United’s midweek motif, with abundance, as writing
prompt.

A Cosmic April Fool's Joke Punchline (April 1, 2017)

The following poem contains very dark subject matter, like enduring extreme child abuse/bullying, PTSD, depression and suicide, itself. 

"I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours

But I think that God's got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find Him laughing."

Depeche Mode, "Blasphemous Rumours", Some Great Reward (1984)

Sitting on

The edge of the tub

A razor blade

In my hand.

The tears rolling

Down my cheeks

As I look back

At my life.

Just wanting

The pain to end

Regardless

Of the personal cost.

Wondering

What I did do

To become

The punchline

Of this cosmic joke.

I call

My life.

As the abuse

And bullying

Playback

In my mind's eye.

Red tears 

Flow from my wrists

Onto the bathroom floor.

Until

Nothing is left

In my body.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: I know, there some people will read this poem, and think, it's a cry for help, on my part. Truth is, I have been battling PTSD, for most of my life, after electrocuting myself, in November 1974, while trying to separate an extension cord, from a port space heater, in the basement of the home, we're living in, at the time, as a child. Have been told, on numerous occasions, I was lucky to have survived the electrical burn, to my mouth. I have endured 4 different operations, upon my mouth, over the years, leaving a facial faint scar, upon my right side of my mouth.

The following year, I started kindergarten, and the abuse/bullying started then, there. Only stopping, in September 1987, when I transferred to another high school, for my final 3 years, before starting university, in September 1990.

This doesn't include, the abuse, I suffered, at the hands, feet, and mouth, of my younger brother, over the years, until August 2007, I stood up to him, and told him; "you're dead to me, the next time, I see you, you'll be 6 feet under." Since then, I haven't seen or heard from him. 

Today's date is April 1st, a time, people allowed to play practical jokes, on each other, until noontime. And yes, there are time, which I feel like, I am, the punchline, to some cosmic joke, 

And no, I am not planning on ending my life, right now. Just that, at times, I feel this need to write out the darkness, I contain, within me. Guess, you could it, a safety valve release. 

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.