3089: Not Another Unicorn Poem (March 13, 2019)

Upon my soul

Does the tears

Of an unicorn fall.

Gently

They caress me

In their tenderness.

Of a stolen innocence

Before its time

And place.

I can 

No longer return

Ever again.

Penalty of death

To body and soul

Most painful manner.

For what

Was cruelty taken

From my childhood years.

A blessed gift

Holiest of holies

Child can receive.

Chance to dream

Land of hope

And opportunity.

Now

Charred remains

Of death and destruction.

Where the dying seek

Final absolution cleansing

For their souls.

Forever denied

Through selfish acts

By other children.

My fate sealed

Condemned to wander

Without shelter.

Unable to rest

'Til fInal judgment

Has been delivered.

Knowing

An eternity and beyond

Is awaiting me.

Therisa © 2019

Author's note: Written, during the early morning hours, as I struggled to fall asleep.

After The Tears (September 2, 2017)

They fall

From the heights

Of Mt Olympus

Down our face.

Overburdened

With the toxic slurry

Of our lives.

Those times

We've been told

By others.

We're bleeping useless

Pieces of waste.

Never stopping

To realize

These words were

Never meant for us.

Rather

The outward expression

Of those speaking

Their own inner hate.

Scared and envious

Of us

In our boldness

To be true.

By being

The ultimate person

We can.

In saying

I love myself

Despite the hate

Tossed at us.

So wipe away

That bio-hazardous flood.

And remember

Their words can

Only have power

When we give it

To them.

A hard thing

To remember

As our soul crumbles

Under this weight

But necessary.

For Rome 

Wasn't built

In a single day.

Neither 

Shall our healing be

Until that day arrives

Please be gentle

And compassionate

To ourselves.

For we shall have

Our good and bad day

On this journey

To wholeness.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Reaching out to someone, who's having negative self-doubts on her healing journey.

A Friday Afternoon (February 19, 2016)

www.braincoretherapy.com

Around me

The chaos of life

Bubbles forth

Like a babbling brook.

As I struggle

To stay connected

With myself.

Despite

My rising levels

Of anxiety

Reaching towards

A panic attack.

Leaving me

Feeling

Extremely vulnerable.

As people walk by

In the library.

In knowing

It's just my body

Extending

Its hyper-vigilance.

A by-product

Of an abuse past

I'm trying to

Overcome.

Fighting

This growing urge

To runaway

And hide

Inside my apartment.

To do so

Would be admitting

Once again

I have failed.

Refusing

To allow

Any tears of frustration

To grace my face.

As I beat back

The growing sense

Of being

A worthless failure.

Trying to control

My trembling hands

While

Typing this

Out.

In claiming

One small victory

At a steep price.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Have been diagnosed, as having living, with chronic depression, various anxiety disorders and PTSD, (I refuse to say, suffering, as I know, these conditions, will be, with me, for the rest of my life) as the result of a very abusive past, growing up, as a child, and later on, as an adult. As part of my healing process, I have taken Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT), at a local hospital, near my apartment. Never realizing, until afterwards, a lot of the stuff, I having doing, on my own, has been CBT techniques, to distract myself, in triggering situations, like the above poem. To analyze, what is causing this reaction, while, in the library.