Cage me –
watch me grow …
my essence is strong
my will fierce –
cannot confine
brilliance…
destiny
Challenges rub,
ruffle feathers,
discomfort short-lived,
we are meant to soar –
obstacles don’t define
response does.
(Willful first appeared here June, 2020. Art my own)
I didn’t know about the wasps
before I had carried my toddler
across the darkened room
laid her in a bed, crawling
Clutched her sleeping body
close to my chest, turned
to retreat, but the swarm
gathered there at the door
My cousin punched a hole
in a wall, unable to discern
the exit in a smoke-filled room.
The hole remains; she doesn’t
Strangers came to her funeral
drawn by the mystery of the girl
(name unknown) who died
such a tragic death, just 18.
How did this invasion happen
how was I remiss in noticing
that this house of potential
was being consumed by threat?
Unlike my ill-fated kin,
I knew where the door was
braved it to save my child
ignored the prophetic warning
Look back at the ruins now –
hers and mine – the patterns
of abandonment, familial
neglect, disinterest a plague
How we women try to please
carry our children through
the flames, choking on
disappointment… hope
A man lit the flame that killed her,
just as a man suffocated my spirit
threads of sanity carrying me
till my mind escaped the wasps
(Ink and watercolour mine)
This trail is a trial:
I’ve wheeled myself
through impossible
terrains, battled
unforgiving odds
regained purpose…
Is this resilience
or a stubborn refusal
to surrender, and…
who will dare criticize?
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
Bottomed out
sanity failing
nerves MIA
mind akimbo
Ladder building
walls of abyss
lack footholds
airless desperation
Rung one: faith
believe in God
believing in me
climbing blindfolded
Rung two: children
a reason for living
grasping strength
carving a path
Rung three: writing
ink bleeding pain
expunging futility
clawing for purpose
Rung four: friends
holding space
remembering self
blotted forgotten
Setting goals –
minimize focus
count progress
millimetre milestones
Surviving:
knuckles scraped
ego bruised
perspective altered
Pain creeps into every corner
Doubt don’s construction boots
tramples on my backbone
threatens to undermine
I have purpose, goddammit!
A reason to rise, to feel, to live!
Cannot afford to cower
societal whims and
ensuing insecurity be gone!
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)
So much I want to say,
yet the oppression of opposition
stomps heavily on my airways
cutting off the flow
Daughter of a trans father
mother contemplating MAiD –
embroiled in controversy,
I see only injustice
Cannot fathom the hatred
the railing against books
and glamour, and science,
misappropriation of christianity
How am I supposed to grieve;
take up arms for those I love,
when I am silenced before I speak
judgments cast without a thought?
If I could have a word,
if anyone would listen
I would share, perhaps insight
into the lives of secrets held
Describe how hearts wilt
beneath cruelty of suppression
how torn apart we become
ignorance voiding authenticity
I would tell you of the horrors
that dwelt within our homes
the fear of discovery, of rejection
how ugly it all felt….until
Education offered explanation
and in that opening
we saw potential to climb out
from our shadowy existence
embrace a life in which our love
is neither tainted nor deviant
and tell me please, as I try to listen
how such hopefulness is sin, after all.
(Image my own)
Time stands still; we wait
the noise of speculation stark contrast
to the reality that confronts us
Where do we go from here
and what authority to trust
and in this imposed solitude
can we find the strength
of reflection, the courage
to follow an inner lead?
(Time for Reflection and Courage first appeared on One Woman’s Quest, April 2020. Image my own)
It came in the peak of summer
that most optimistic time, when
sunshine equates with health
and bodies glow with exertion
fit and in their prime – it came
with all the fury of a winter blast
harsh and cold and unyielding –
wrestling me from my complacency
annihilating vibrancy, self-definition
de-leafed, rendering me raw, exposed.
I clung to the darkness, blanketed
against the harshness of light,
the impossibility of sound, or scent –
was de-shelled, ungrounded, ravaged
by volatile nerves and misfiring impulses
praying for the certainty of death…
but it is spring that follows winter
and in time, restlessness set in –
the dogged whine of hope willing
my mind to stretch, my body to try
spirit, tired of withdrawal, pushed
against the wall of dysfunction,
bolstered by a shifting acceptance
found roots in an unspoken faith
and I felt possibility, like a tiny sprout
reaching for the sunshine,
ventured out of my cocoon –
still alive! Redefining purpose –
still precarious, highly vulnerable
but optimistic for the return of summer.
(Rebirthing first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II March, 2018. Image my own)
Searching for the alchemy
to transform this chaos –
Do they understand depravity,
those who dwell in exurbs,
blinded by their own opulence?
Children are dying, pawns
in a political sham – I know
we’re tired, but now is not
the time to sleep.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image mine)
Even in togetherness there is distance.
I am alone.
A central figure, distracted,
aiming for contact –
unable to eviscerate control –
repeatedly producing a singular confusion.
Define success
Is it the one on the top,
the know-it-all,
or are these the mechanisms
of estrangement?
I am unable to discern-
stability never more than a dalliance.
The pavement ahead whispers
promises of a sense of belonging…
Can I tolerate the quest?
Unfulfilled, I am protective
fear off-shoots of depression,
shield tender inner places…
Bring on change, there are others
watching, looking to me
as an example.
I can strive
on their behalf
Never alone.
Always distances to cross.
(Distance first appeared here February, 2017. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 