Paradoxically, Me (March 5, 2016)

www.blog.shareaholic.com

Before your eyes

My soul is

Being laid bare.

One word

At a time

On the page

And computer screen.

Like an onion

Each new poem

Is a different layer

Of experiences

I have lived.

Knowing

By doing this

Am creating

A polarized reaction

By my very existence.

For some

I am

An abomination

Meant to be

Put to death.

Others

A symbol of hope

And courage

By being 

Myself.

In the past

I hid

In the darkness

For my own protection.

And yet

Find myself

Torn

In two directions.

Whether

Or not

I should emerge

Fully

Into the light.

Exposing myself

To greater risks

And rewards.

Else

Move closer

To the grey shadows.

Offering me

A limited degree

Of protection

And possible benefits.

But

I want

Both.

Ok

Will admit

I'm being greedy.

Having been deprived

For so long.

Except

I'm scared

Will harm myself

For that very reason.

Like Icarus did

When he flew

Too close

To the sun.

As

An aspirated sigh

Escapes.


Therisa © 2016


Author's note: Releasing some inner angst, about my wanting to be more open, with my life, of being more socially engage then, I am, right now. Struggling, with anxiety and depression.


This is, the poem that inspired me, to write, "Just Another Brick, In The Wall".

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.

When Cassandra Spoke (February 24, 2016)

www.walking-on-eggshellz.blogspot.com

Outside

A hospital parking lot

She spoke

Those fateful words

About her grandma's health.

In pronouncing

Her doom

No one wanted to say

Or talk about.

Family

Or medical staff.

"Grandma has cancer."

Never expecting

The sudden swing

To the head

By her dad

That missed.

A man

Who rarely shared

His strongest emotions

Publicly

With others.

As he fled

Crying

To the car

His world

Rocked.

A month

Or so

Later.

They buried

Her grandma.

Unable

To hide

The tumours

Upon her body.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: In June 1996, my oma breathed her last breathe, as cancer claimed her body. I was, one of three sets of sibling grandchildren, who acted, as her pallbearers. I so dearly miss her, and the way, she greet all grandchildren and great grandchildren, by calling us, little ones, in broken English and Dutch. No matter, how tall, we have gave grown, over the years.


The above poem, is my recount of that fateful day, in May 1996. Dad, if you can hear me, I didn't mean to hurt you, by speaking the truth, like I did. I forgive you, for your actions.

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.

Before The Coming Storm (February 18, 2016)

www.flickr.com

Like tumbleweeds

Blowing across

The semi-arid landscape

Of the southwestern

United States.

My mind is devoid

Of any rational thought

As the mental winds

Brush away

Any possible idea.

Leaving behind

A barren soulscape.

Awaiting

The gentle

And nurturing touch

Of a poetic shower.

Never have

Experiencing it

By my soul

Or body.

The type

One sees

In the distant

Mountainous horizon.

As a moving curtain

Darkening

The nearby sky.

Renewing life

Once more

With a tender kiss

On the cracked lips

Of one's soul.

Bringing life

To the once wasteland

As words blossom

All around me

Once more.

Therisa © 2016


Author's note: For the past 48 hours, I have been struggling with writer's block, am hoping this poem has lifted this burden, from my shoulders.

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.   

It's Only -26 C, With The Wind Chill (February 11, 2016)

Error

Failure to connect

To server.

Flashes

Before my mind's eye.

As I try

To access

My Muse.

Wondering

If today's

Extreme cold alert

By the city of Toronto

Is causing this.

Sluggishly

My synapses

Are responding

To my requests.

Feeding

This growing need

To curl up

In my warm

And comfortable bed.

Caring not

What the world thinks

Beyond this

Of keeping my body

Comfortable.

Outside

Walking piles of clothing

Are identified

As humans.

Shuffling

From point A

To point B.

Leaving behind

A vapour contrail

Marking their passage

Like jets.

And myself

Am cuddled

With my cats.

Awaiting

More humane temperatures

Before venturing

Outdoors

Once more.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Right now, southern Ontario is under an Arctic deep freeze, as the wind chill is being clocked, at -30 C and colder.  Perfect timing, as Toronto, is hosting the year, NBA All-Star game. Bad enough, we, Canadians have to live this stereotype, as the land of the frigid North. Never mind, parts of the continental US are, as cold or colder than Toronto is, right now. I can't wait until Spring and the warmer temperatures that seen like a distant memory, from last year.

Standing Before, The Portal Of Past, Present And Future (February 13, 2016)

www.quotehd.com

Before me

Stands

An open window

To my past

And future.

One

I had walked away

Fourteen years ago

On my own.

In hating

Whom I was.

But

Unable to voice

This inner truth

With anyone.

Family

Or friends.

Wanting

To rebuild

These bridges.

I have left

To rot

Over time.

Scared

By doing so

Will expose myself

To rejection

And hate.

For few know

The journey

I have taken

Since.

Do I take

This risk

And climb

Through this window?

Or

Slam it shut

Destroying all ties

To my extended family

And the past.

A question

I wrestle with

As both sides argue

Within my mind.

Against

The rising tide

Of anxiety.

Indecision

Wracks my brain

And soul.

While

Choking back

A nervous sigh

As I write this.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Earlier, this afternoon, I searched the name of one of my 26 paternal cousins, who I haven't seen, since June 2002, at a family reunion, marking the family's 50th year, of immigrating to Canada, from The Nederland. Of all of my cousins, he is, the one that I feel, the most comfortable around. growing up, being close, in age.  I know, he's support of LGBT+ rights, which makes my decision, a tad bit easier, but I'm not sure, if I am ready, to share myself, with him.

The Listener (February 12, 2016)

www..stress.about.com

Not sure

If this

Is a curse

Or a blessing.

You tell me

I have

A rare gift.

One

Of true healing.

As people

Of all genders

Come to me

Sharing their hopes

And fears.

But

Who do I

Have to turn

In my time

Of need?

Wish

I knew

As I struggle

With my own daemons.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: It's funny, but looking back, over my life, whether, I'm male or female, people have come to me, in sharing their intimate selves, especially, with high school,  as the other girls felt a sense of comfortableness, in talking to me, one wouldn't associated with a "boy". Never realizing, my own personal daemons that I was struggling with, like wanting to ask them, out, but scared, of being rejected by them.

The first time, I was told, by another person, I have this gift, occurred, during my stay, at women homeless shelter, in June 2007. She was Vietnamese-Canadian, who had, in her past, been violently attacked, damaging her vocal cords. Despite this, she had an inner beauty that shone brilliantly, with her caring soul. She described me, as a soul, who's yin and yang was, in perfect balance, thus, allowing me, to see beyond the soul's surface, and to connect with others. My biggest regret is, I didn't stay, in contact with her, since leaving the shelter.

Since than, there have been numerous other times, I have told, about this gift, I have. The last time, occurring earlier, this week, in my apartment building. Not sure, why I have this gift, but I do. Is it, a legacy of being, an old soul? For I have been told, it's a very rare gift that few people have naturally.

A Fate Worse Than Death (February 9, 2016)

www.forums.sega.com

Upon the wings

Of midnight black

I soak

The night's sky.

Seeking

My true love

Whom I lost.

As a murder of Crows

Scrawls Heaven

And Earth.

Where

I can't go.

As punishment

For dealing

In the darker arts.

By pursuing

Forbidden knowledge.

In the hope

Of curing

What was killing you

My wife.

Never realizing

In healing you

I was condemning us

To a fiery fate.

As that ignorant fool

Of a priest

Led the lynch mob

Against us.

With murder

In his heart.

Even now

On these dark

And lonely nights

A single blood red tear

Is sled.

As I remember

How I abandoned you

To your doom

On the pyre.

By invoking

My dark Masters

In a single moment

Of weakness

On my part.

For which

I was rewarded

By having my body

Transformed

Into dark sex siren.

Condemned

To roam

The nightly sex dreams

Of men.

Until

I find you

Once more

My dear  heart.

And earn

Your forgiveness

For my sins.


Therisa © 2016


Author's note: Every so often, I like to search, through the gothic images, and see, if there are anyone that pique my curiosity, to write a poem, about it. Sadly, I can't think of a gothic tune, which would compliment this event. Maybe, next time.

Thus Speaks, Depression, (February 6, 2016)

www.asknormen.co.uk

My story is

But

One voice

In the wilderness

Seeking acknowledgement.

Of the struggle

To find

Self-acceptance

And self-worth.

Knowing

My own journey

Hasn't been

The hardest

Or the easiest.

To reach

This point of my life.

As a dark cloud

Looms large

Over my horizon.

Feeling myself

Shrinking

Into nothingness.

Except

A bubbling cauldron

Of negative emotions

And empty space

That once housed

My physical body.

In wondering

What difference

In my presence

Making.

Other than

A space filler

Most people don't see.

Even if

I'm standing

Before them

On the sidewalk.

Unless

They stumble

Over my feet.

Maybe

If I'm lucky

Tonight

I won't wake up

On the morrow.

Rather

Will find

That sacred gift 

Of true peace.

For my body

and soul.


Therisa © 2016



Author's note: If you asked me, at the moment, what my level of suicidal ideation is, would have to tell you, it's about 5-5.25, an increase, from Friday's levels of 4.5-5. As I find myself, in the balance, between being passively and actively suicidal. For most of my life that I can remember, these thoughts have always been a part of my life. Existing, most of the time, as a background static, like a radio, just out of tune, for that particular station, you're trying to tune in.


Right now, I am, in no danger of committing suicide, beyond the radio, is getting tuned in.

That Unattainable Itch (February 3, 2014)

www.lifetasteswell.com

Within my soul

I feel

A stirring.

Or

An itch

If you prefer.

Calling out

In a language

I don't fully understand.

But

It feels

So familiar.

As If

I have heard it

Being spoken

Before.

In a distant dream

Or long forgotten memory

From my childhood.

Teasing me

With its familiarity.

As it rolls

Around my head

Driving me

Insane.

Leading me

In an unknown direction

That only

It knows.

Don't feel

Any sense of malice

Or darkness

From it.

Beyond

My frustration

Of being led

Blindly.

Wondering

If I shall ever learn

What this message

Is being offered

To me.

As I have

Little to no patience

For jigsaw puzzles

Like this.

As this thought

Floats

Through my mind:

"Patience

Grasshopper

Patience."

Making me

Want to clench

My teeth

In frustration.

Knowing

Full well

Only time

Can provide

Those answers

I seek.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Am just old enough, to remember watch Kung Fu, in reruns, as a child, which the quote: "Patience, Grasshopper, Patience", is taken from.

A Soul's Wish (February 4, 2016)

www.yogawithtali.wordpress.com

Silence.

Only

A soul can hear

And understand.

Is what

I seek.

In muzzling

My inner critic

Permanently.

Reclaiming

What's every child's

Birthright:

Self-confidence

And self-esteem.

By undoing

A lifetime

Of destructive comments

And brutal body blows

To the soul.

At times

My psychic pain

Is too much.

As I shrink

Ever smaller

Into a space

Of lost hope.

As the words

Logic and sanity

Are only found

In a dictionary.

Depression

And extreme anxiety

Sink their talons 

Deep

Into my soul.

Simple act

Of opening and exiting

My apartment door

Takes on

Heroic measures.

As I cower

In my bedroom.

Shedding tears

Of frustration

And shame.

Knowing

Only last week

I could do so

With the greatest

Of ease.

Wondering

How long

My jail sentence

Will be

This time.

Before

The cycle changes

In granting me

Parole.

Until

The next time

I'm held hostage

Within my apartment.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: My last bout of agoraphobia, occurred, during the summer of 2014, lasting 3 months, before I was able to leave my apartment, without any assistance. Marking my second cycle of agoraphobia, within the past 6 years.

Caught Between Two Worlds (February 3, 2016)

www.forward.com

Can feel

My emotions

Pushing forth

Beyond the barriers

I have built.

Wondering

As I question myself

For thinking

This way.

Am I

Delusional?

In my challenging

The status quo

That society has

So rigidly imposed

On those

Who are different.

In my wanting

And needing

To fully embrace

This change.

On the physical

And spiritual level.

Knowing

By doing so

I have become

A leper.

For those people

Who fear

And avoid me.

To do otherwise

Would mean

Continuing living

My life

As a ghost.

Moving through life

Unable to connect

With people

On a meaningful level.

Beyond

Being seen

As a pale shade

Of myself.

Neither

Fully alive

Nor

Truly dead.

Sadly

My own answer

To this question.

Is a shrug

Of my shoulders

And a frustrated sigh

As I move on.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Not exactly sure, why I wrote this, beyond this driving need, to do so. In having done so, I do feel, a tad lighter physically and spiritually. Either way, this probably, my most spiritual poem, in a long time.

The Waiting Game (February 2, 2016)

www.healthdefine.com

An anxious sigh

Escapes my lips

As I chew on

One of my fingernails

On my right hand.

Know

It's a bad habit

That I should stop.

But

I don't care.

As I face

Another three days

Before I face

My doctor

And the latest A1C result.

Will admit

Am scared witless.

In facing

The strong possibility

Of having to start

Injecting myself

With Insulin.

Not sure

How I should read

My nurse practitioner's

Response.

When

She says

The results are better

Than last time.

Given

Prior to that test

I had been off

All of my meds

For about 4 months.

And yeah

The results were

Disastrous.

That's putting it

Mildly.

Any result

Would be better.

Given

I'm back

On my meds

(HRT and diabetic).

But

Is it enough

To avoid

The need for injections?

That's

The million dollar question.

One way

Or another

Will be answered

At my Friday morning

Appointment.

Can only hope

It's good news

Until my next A1C test

In late April.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: By nature, I'm not the most patience of people, as you can tell, with this poem. I just want the results back, so I can move forward with my life, regardless, if I need to start using Insulin. And yes, this waiting is killing me.

Just The Way, It Is (January 23, 2016)

www.susans.org

Hello

My name is

Therisa.

Does this

Bother you?

As you say:

"Male".

As if

It was

The most vilest

Curse word

You know.

Correct me

If I'm wrong.

But didn't

Your religious belief

Teach you.

To treat others

As you want them

To treated you?

Especially

Volunteering

At a food/clothing bank

For disadvantaged "women"

And families?

I write this

Not to embarrass you.

Rather

Trying to understand

Why you harbour

Such ill will

Towards me.

Honestly

I wish

It was possible.

For you

To experience

The "Hells"

I have travelled

Through.

Just to reach

This stage

Of my life.

Actively

Attempting to

Correct

This genetic mistake.

Of being born

In the wrong gendered

Body.

Is this

Asking

Too much?

For compassion

And a helping hand

Towards

A fellow human being.

For some

It is.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On January 19th, I walked up, to a nearby food/clothing bank, ran by, a local Christian organization, in Toronto. For the first time, in 13 months, I was made to feel like, I didn't belong there, by one particular volunteer, there. Guess, I shouldn't be surprised, given my past experienced, with "religious" people and their gross intolerance, towards those, who challenge their perception of "what is right and wrong". In their quoting verses, from the Talmud and the New Testament, at me, saying my soul is, eternally damned, for being a trans-lesbian.


I didn't feel right, in challenge this person, outright, rather tried to pass it, by saying, I'm transitioning, which is true. Maybe, the next time, if I see her, I will ask, if we can go to a separate room, and try to enlighten her, about her rudeness and ignorance. If she is willing, to keep an open mind, while we talk.


For the record, I'm not, a practicing Jew, Christian, or Muslim. Rather, find myself, leaning towards Animism, which some "People of the Book" would view me, as being Pagan.  Never mind, I was forced by my mom, to attend various Protestant churches, until my mid-teens, when I said, "enough". Never have felt comfortable, in any of these churches. In fact, one church made me feel, like I was walking over the graves of dead.

Mt. Melancholy (Janaury 18, 2016)

www.emaze.com

Today

I find myself

Walking

Under the shadow

Of darkness.

As old memories

Spring forth

Like an avalanche.

Cascading down

The snow covered

Mountainside.

As if

I have taken

The wrong trail

Into a forbidden area

With my ignorance.

Burying me

So deep

In the memories

Of a darker time.

Each passing second

The burden grows heavier

Upon my soul.

Am struggling

To find up

From down

With little avail.

Feeling

My inner spark

Growing dimmer

As the tears fall

Down my face.

Knowing

How easy

It would be

To surrender myself

And let everything

Go.

In my wanting

To remain

In the foetal position.

Until

My oxygen runs out

Fading out

Into the night

Forever.

But

I know

These feeling

Shall pass.

As I dig

My way out

Into the light

Once more.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: Not exactly sure, what triggered the events of last Monday, January 18, 2016, when I found myself, buried, under a sudden wave of dark memories. Almost 36 hours later, am still struggling with the aftermath of this, as emotionally, I feel numb, and have lost all contact, with my poetic muse. If I was, to describe this, it feels like a PTSD flashback, without any of the visible images, normally, would have experienced, with one. In being, a total sensory overload of my emotions, in a three hour period, on Monday. Much like the type, I would associate, around my electrical burn, to my mouth, as a four year old.

Therisa Scriptor Pax (January 9, 2016)

www.cares2.com

Silence

The sound

I welcome.

And yet

Dread.

In wondering

If this lull is

Another trap

To ensnare me

In harm's way.

Or

The first moments

Of a lasting truce.

Unknown

To me

Until now.

Being able

To trek

Across my soulscape

Without stepping on

A landmine.

Or

Having a sniper

Taking verbal shots

With deadly accuracy

To my soul.

Degrading me.

As if

I have

No absolute value.

Laying to rest

These painful

And toxic memories

Of abuse

Into their graves.

Able

To sleep

A full night rest.

Without being awakened

By the slightest touch

Or sound.

More importantly

No more flashbacks

Or night terrors.


Therisa © 2016

Prepping For Soul Soup (January 13, 2016)

Photo from http://www.hubpages.com

Sitting down

With a paring knife

And a cooking onion

In my hands.

Taking my time

To ensure

No fingers are nicked

By the slicing blade.

Pruning back

The dry and crumbly

Dead layers

Into the garbage bag.

As if

I'm paring back

My life

Before me.

Trying not

To rub

My burning eyes.

Whose tear ducts

Are overflowing

With sadness

From past memories.

With each layer

I have removed

Before placing it

On the cutting board.

All the time

Wishing

I was handling

Its milder cousin

The Leek.

For the soup pot.

As a stray hand

Starts rubbing

An eye or two.

Trying to ease

The stinging

I feel.

Knowing

It's a task

I have to face.

As crying

Is cathartic

For ones soul.

In removing

The dead memories

We have gathered

Over our life.

Allowing us

To move on.


Therisa © 2016




Author's note: This poem is, my 2500th written one, since I started writing poetry, on March 31, 2007, as suggested to me, by the group moderator, of my M2F support group, at the 519, in Toronto.

Welcome To Canada, Eh? (January 9, 2016)

TheStar.com. Designed by Elise Gravel.

Am

Not surprise

Someone has targeted

A gathering

Outside

Of a Muslim centre.

Given

Canada's long history

Of Xenophobia

And racism.

Myself

The child

Of an immigrant.

Who came

To Canada

During the 1950s

As a teenager.

Anger

And frustration

Grips my soul.

Naively believing

Things would be different

For the newly arriving

Syrian refugees.

Being able

To call

Canada

Their home.

Without any fear

Of being attacked

For their religious beliefs.

In leaving behind

All the violence

Of the Syrian civil war

And the refugee camps.

How I do say

"I'm sorry

For the ignorant actions

Of a few bigots?"

As this

Is your first exposure

To life

In Canada.


Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On Friday, January 8, 2016, a group of 30 Syrian refugees, where pepper sprayed, by a passing cyclist, which included children. Under BC law, pepper spray is considered a weapon, and this cyclist will be charged with assault, causing bodily harm. I do hope that this person, has the guts to step forward and take responsible, for his misguided actions. Am, including an link, to the assault.


http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/pepper-spray-attack-1.3396899


Earlier today, a planeload carrying the 10 000th Syrian refugee arrived, in Canada, twelve days later that the Liberal government had originally projected, after realizing the logistic nightmare that faced them. I do hope, with the increase refugees, the Federal and Provincial governments increase the money that spent on mental illness, from its pitiful levels, at the moment. Also, increase their involvement, with affordable housing, for all Canadians, new and old. Thus, everyone benefits from the arrivals of the Syrian refugees.
http://www.reuters.com/article/us-canada-syria-migrants-idUSKCN0UQ2HS20160112