Cracking Of Eggshells (April 9, 2017)

The black ink

Lays on the page

Like dried blood

Before me.

Clotting up

A long opened wound

Hemorrhaging 

From long suppressed

Memories.

Within my soul

A consuming fire burn

So bright

Promising

To devour me

With an angry rage.

Tears 

Unleashed

Like a tsunami

Threatening

To drown my soul.

The sluice gates

Open up

Wide

From the levee.

Blowing across

My soulscape

Winds of self-condemnation

Telling me

I'm a FAILURE.

A so tired

Of this constant struggle

Just want to rest

And let the pain go.

Sigh.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Been having a very rough period, for the past 3 days, with very negative emotions and very low self-worth, as I have been isolating myself, from the world, real time and cyber-wise. I know, isolating myself, is wrong, but I don't feel strong enough, to walk, outside of my apartment, right now.

Reclaiming My Soul (April 6, 2017)

Peace.

A five letter word

Am struggling

To come to terms

With.

In feeling

The bottled anger

Thrusting up

Against my self-imposed

Mental barriers

For most of my life.

Blaming myself

For the abuse/bullying

In not being

Good enough

To protect me.

As the physical

And verbal blows

Rain down

On my body

And soul.

Internalizing

Those negative words

Within my inner critic's voice

Attacking myself

Years later.

As I battle

Self-doubt

And low self-esteem

In isolating myself

From others.

Even now

It's a struggle

I fight

On a daily basis.

Knowing

It's one of my pillars

Of my soulscape

I have to rebuild

For true healing

And inner peace.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: For more years, than I can remember, I have been struggling, to find that balance, which will give me, true inner peace. Having hit such depths, that I have spent the better part of 3 years, constantly suicidal, as a teenager, without telling anyone of my struggle, during my last years of high school, until decades, afterward.  Even now, on a daily basis, I have suicidal thoughts, in my mind, depending on the severity of my depression, are mostly static background noise, I am able to ignore. And yes, my medical team, is aware of this, as I have shared this, with them. It's one of the questions, I get asked, whenever, I see my nurse practitioner. Along with, how do I rate my level of depression, on a scale of 0-10, 0 being depression free, and 10: having attempted to commit suicide. 

For I have never reached true equilibrium, that balance point, between being manic and depressed, in my life. Even during the time that I was taking a cocktail of several anti-depressants, and suffering in silence, as my body rebelled against them, with constant side effects, which made my life, a constant living Hell. Ranging from constant migraine headaches, from two different drugs to bloating, gaseous and severe cramping, from another drug (only thing missing from my constant period, was the blood on my panty). Worse, several of these medications used a form of sugar, as their delivery vehicle, into the body. Part of the reason, why many people with depression, have a higher than normal rate of type II diabetes.

The Cruelest Month (April 5, 2017)

Barren scarred landscape

Coming out of mourning

As the long white overcoats

Are shrugged off

For another year.

The mating rituals

Of songbirds

Fill the air

Once more

From their winter siesta

In the Gulf of Mexico.

Brave little shoots

Fight their way

To the surface

Through the frozen soil

Embracing

The warming Sun.

Once more

Life has return

With the sound of bees

And other insects

After a long winter

Dormancy.

And yet

Humanity has found

Another brutal way

To turn back

The clocks.

As if

The centennial of Vimy Ridge

And other slaughter grounds

Of the First World War

Aren't enough.

Need to add 

Khan Sheikhoun, Syria

And other communities 

To the growing list

Of chemical warfare

Usage.

Yes

Indeed

April is cruel.

Therisa © 2017

April (April 5, 2017)

All day showers

Puddles everywhere

Rivers flooding

Itching to sow seeds

Lilacs blossoming.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Spring doesn't unofficially arrive, until the last snowstorm, in April, despite, what the calendar says, on my bedroom wall. One of the quirks, of living in a northern hemisphere country, like Canada. Then, if we're lucky, Spring lasts about 3 weeks, before the hot and humid weather of summer, overtakes my region of southern Ontario. Sadly, we must wait until mid-May, before it's safe to plant our gardens, due to the possibility of having overnight frost, killing young plants.

Palette Of Abuse (April 4, 2017)

The blackest of night

I hide away

In my apartment

Spilling red ink

Upon white parchment.

Reliving 

Those golden days 

Of Summer

Where shame burns

With blue and white flames.

Seeking relief

From the fading

Orche and purple (coloured) bruises

As a blue streak

Erupts from your mouth.

Shattering my rose glasses

With your gray innocence

Before my body browns out

From the pain

And exhaustion.

Knowing

These toxic flashbacks

Are pale echoes

Of a faraway time

And place.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: A writing exercise, which I am using 3 different colours, for each stanza, without repeating any colour, previously used. Leaving the last stanza, without any reference to any colour.

Ramblings, On An April Monday Night (April 3, 2017)

A sense of sadness

Fills me.

As doom and gloom

Highlight 

The daily news.

Whether

Over the Internet

Newspaper

Or Television.

Wondering

Are we

The smartest creatures

On this planet?

When

We kill ourselves

Without a second thought

About the consequences

We'll  have to face

Afterwards.

As if

Each new death 

Is nothing more

Than 

A hollow reminder

Of what we have lost

In our souls.

In our mechanic climb

Towards the heavens

And above.

When

In reality

It's our organic descent

Into the bellows

Of Hell.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Just some thoughts, going through my mind, tonight, after reading about the St Petersburg's bombing, on its subway system, this morning. 

Hair! Hair! (April 3, 2017)

A frustrated sigh

Escapes my lips.

Looking at

The reflected image

Of my hair

In the mirror.

Thinking

Women will/have

Spend a fortune

For wavy hair

Like mine.

Truthfully

I look at my hair

And cringe.

Regardless

Of my hair's length

It has

A mind of its own.

Have tried

The punk look

With the Mohawk

As a teenager.

Alternating

With various 

New Wave/Goth styles

As I finished up

High school.

Still shudder

At my failed experiment

Of getting a perm.

Rather

Shave my head

Like Sinead O'Connor 

When she exploded 

Onto the music scene.

Knowing

All of my scars

Will be exposed

That I hide

Under this mop.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Right now, my hair reaches, about the midway point of my shoulder blades, when straightened out. The last time, a pair of scissors was taken to it, was about 4  years ago, to cut out split and dead ends. Something, I need to do, again. 

Sigh. 

Coming Full Circle (April 2, 2017)

Star's big soulful eyes

Penetrating deep

Into my soul.

Reaching

Into the farthest corner

With a single glance.

As if

Weighing my soul

Like Ma'at does

With Her feather

Come Judgment Day.

She lays

Upon my lap

Resting

Contently.

Her loud deep purr

Resonates

Throughout 

My entire body.

Like a tuning fork

Being struck

Hard.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: For the past month, or so, Star has discovered the joys of resting upon my lap, as I use my laptop, to cruise the Internet. Prior to this, she would rest upon my lap, after a bath, ahs I sat, on the edge of the tub, gently petting her, until I had to move. A far cry, from November 2011, when I had to lay a trail of kibble, to get Star, out from underneath the toilet cistern, as she was shaking with fear, on her first night, with Squeak, Venus and I. 

Ace Of Wands (April 1, 2017)

You don't 

Have to say it

But your body does.

A fool's journey

That'll all disappear

Like the latest fad

Some time

Next week.

But

I know

Otherwise.

As

A sad smile

Graces my face.

Knowing

You'll never understand

The forces pushing me

In this direction.

This need 

For healing

That society says.

On one hand

Is wrong.

And yet

Encourages me

To move forward

On this sojourn

Of mine.

Having spent

Several months

In the Valley of Death

Walking my way out

Over the past decade.

Coming to terms

With who I am

As a person.

And what 

I have experienced

During my life

Violence and all.

Knowing

I have 

Only left 

The harbour

On this voyage

Of self-discovery.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: The unidentified person, whom I am talking to, in this poem, is my mom. Since, I accidently "outed" myself, to her, on July 1, 2006 (Canada Day), whenever I around her, I can see the fear and confusion, in her eyes, despite her protesting, otherwise. For a variety of reasons, I had to break off, all relation with her, in November 2013, for my mental and physical health. 

Interesting, as Therisa, I am more aggressive, in fighting for the things that I need, then I would be if I was T_____. I know T_____ would not have the confidence to write these personal extrovert poems, about the abusive past, the steps taken, in the healing process, or speaking out, on the injustices in the world, around me. 

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.