Category: psychology

The Lie

I lied.

The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots

written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness

Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?

Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?

Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed.
The lie remains.

(Image my own)

More Hole Than Whole

The woman in the mirror is flawed
age spots where freckles once sprouted,
streaks of white, peppering former auburn,
inner scars marking discontent.

How then is she expected
to know wholeness?

In days when mind was sharp
self-confidence wobbled;
where spirituality was planted,
self-judgment undermined.

The path to wholeness
pitted with potholes.

How often emotion overrode
common sense, and choices
led her astray, how thick
the mud of guilt she mired in.

Repulsed at her own reflection
she was anything but whole.

Less self-defacing these days
she examines the worn bits
with wry acceptance –
acknowledges the toil.

If wholeness is perfection,
she’s ready to let go.

(Image my own. AI enhanced)

Clothing

I would befriend hesitation,
take her shopping with me,
invest the time,
but impulse
is my constant companion.

Hesitation,
born of shared trauma,
labours over pain-filled decisions

My need is palpable,
throbbing,
must suffocate it,
weighted beneath
layers of numbing fabric

Afraid to show myself,
afraid that she will find me,
block any progress,
or worse

make my pay for these layers
of stolen moments…
encounter crazy reflected in her eyes

(Poem first appeared here June 2016. This version has been edited. Image my own)

Now That I Matter

The times I waited –
restless and raging
deliberately put on hold
dismissed, degraded, ignored.

Why did I put up with that?
Was I so afraid I’d lose it all?
So uncertain about a future?

How the children came to me
need in their eyes, little arms
begging to be embraced,
and I too blinded to reach out
fixated on the anger, powerless,
immersed myself in distractions
could not respond to their pleading
while my own inner child was doing the same

How I’d let other people’s agendas
override mine – their need to be rescued
or fixed, or to ride on my successes –
boundaries never a strong suit
my own desires so far buried
as to be practically nonexistent

How I’d avoid confrontation
never the top dog – hiding
rather than facing the bullies
in my sight – my loyalty,
my friendship a given
seldom valued by even me

How I took on the discards of others
let men dictate my life –
sorting through their carelessness
like spoon feeding adolescents
Perpetually in mother mode.

I am standing on a threshold
no doubt others will not like
Where I matter now
and love takes precedence
and my inner child shines,
and my priorities are front facing
and loyalty an earned gift
Where men are called to account
and women upheld and valued.

I am proud of who I am,
forgive all the ways I’ve put me down
and chose to radiate  
Love guiding this new light.

(Self portrait by me )

Dear Child

I know a little girl,
whose hair in ringlets
falls, unkempt from lack
of brushing; who stands
when she should be sitting;
who laughs with defiance when
challenged, her dark eyes gleaming
with mischief; who holds her chin up
high and stamps her feet, arms folded
in protest when she does not get her way.

I see that little girl,
have watched her play,
with a wild imagination,
and a fearless temperament;
have watched her climb a tree,
scrap with any bully, and dare to
venture on her own; have witnessed
her alone times, hidden and obscured,
watched as she cried unheeded, buried
herself in books, drawing, and future dreams.

I feel that little girl,
who wears such a brave
exterior to mask her inner
fears; who bears a burden of
responsibility to carry the weight
of those around her;  who believes
she has the power to make her mother
cry, to cause her father’s violence, to save
her sisters from pain; who feels the punishment
of her situation and ascribes it to unworthiness.

I love that little girl,
whose mind is always
churning, who prays to a
god she’s never seen, and
makes wishes on rainbows;
who longs to make a difference,
and refuses to believe that suffering
is all there is; who devotes herself to
being a better person, and hopes one day
that she’ll finally feel at peace in the world.

I hold that little girl,
warm within my heart,
listen to her fears, hear
her heart’s longing;  praise
her courageous efforts, appease
her doubts, offer condolences for
losses, encouragement for change,
forgive her of her burdens; allay her
misperceptions, reassure her worth,
promise to never let her go: she is me.

An Escape Plan

An incorrigible hag
engages my loneliness –
like an assassin sniffing out
any scent of vulnerability

I am lowering standards
this history of imprisonment
enabling inappropriate openings

I cry for new perspective
ponder after boundaries
intending to defend

Like an unwanted bullseye
I am pursued on repeat
malice considering me
a problem to be solved

Who is this old woman
whose thoughts are daggers
who calls upon predators
to devour my freedom?

And what ancestral legacy
sets me on such tenuous ground
entrusts the key to my soul
to such devilish factions?

I strike out and miss
am twice thwarted
but refuse to submit

Have espied the resources within
will defeat the infernal voices
and confront the witch

Wits calculating
confidence a repellent
teetering on the edge of victimhood
not a path I care to repeat.

(Ink sketch my own)