Is survival resilience?
Those who crawl
from the trenches,
elbow-deep in mire,
trust not the leniency
of asphalt nor concrete
Resilience dons bravado
picks itself up, dusts off
the ashes, and wheels on –
tires squealing in the face
of those mud-laden.
(Image my own)
We are not islands
isolated
insulated
to be ignored
We are hearts engaged
in a relational dance:
intertwining stories
weaving new tales
Yearning for love’s reciprocity
Delighting in wonder of discovery
Slugging through painful demise
Striving to be better
We build walls
construct towers
follow paths leading nowhere –
the pitfalls of our quest
Artificial barriers
lofty ideals
dead ends…
and still we push on
Dreaming of hands that hold
and gentle waters
soothing and war
passionate kisses
Love’s rewards
We exist
not for accumulation
but for the gifts that arise
when open hearts dance.
(Image my own)
(Trigger warning: this poem alludes to child abuse)
Who I am
if not a harbinger –
eyes turned to the sky
diligent?
And what defines me
beyond calm in a crisis
action-taking, firmly
responsible?
No bystander here
I will fight injustice
free the wrongfully accused
capable
Driven
driving
fearless
awake
No sleeping
when danger presents
turmoil relentless
nightmares persist
Visions of uprising
and natural disasters
filling my dreams –
I grow weary
I cry, but no one is listening
the bustle outside reflective
of lives being lived
while I cower
Worried that the sky will fall
and I will be too torn
too bruised
to rise to the occasion
That child I coddled
now questioning my motives
that woman I saved
scoffing at my delusion
I am neither saint nor saviour
I am just a woman/child running
from the drunk under the table
still trying to define herself
as anything but his prey.
(Drawing is my own)
Yearning, so unrestrained
passion’s flame willfully
failing accountability
 Urgency is infectious
vulnerability feeds the sickness
co-dependence overstays
Naïvité on repeat –
mother complex burns
obsessive obligations
Abandonment inevitable
wounds stagnating
threaded histories unravelling
Grief, oppression –
How does one breathe?
Sorrowful, unbalanced
Unmodulated caring
charred tendencies
destined to scorch anew.
(Image mine)
“Are you happy?”
The question hits
my gut,
slingshots
down the hall
deadends
at optimism
“Of course,” I respond.
What else can I say…
Sure life needs tweaking…
I am learning to be better…
I can make this work…
Why? What do see?
Thoughts unspoken
but the bell has been rung…
(I wrote this poem in 2020, in response to a prompt. It was inspired by an encounter with an old flame, whose question caught me off guard. I was not, in fact, happy at the time – my then marriage about to crumble. The thing is, this event happened almost 30 years ago, and yet remains in my mind. Funny how the psyche holds onto things. Image my own.)
Armed with platitudes
and the unrelenting
garble of distractions
Disrespecting process
Disregarding warnings
I pretend
to be anchored
in faith.
(Image my own)
There are shores that remain
ever-etched upon my heart –
emotional tides that tug
and carry me, currents
of past revelations –
I remember drowning
in the swells of loneliness
always the outsider, the grains
of this sentimentality
still shredding my adult soul.
(Borrowed from my former Twitter page. Image my own)
Doctoring broken hearts –
my own legacy a training ground –
like an anesthesiologist
I keep the patient breathing,
asleep – muted by kindness,
unconscious and unable to react.
Why?
Because lulling others is more
effective than operating on self –
faux obligations such a balm
Administer lidocaine to the wounds
Numbness preferable to open-hearted
investigation…
no sutures strong enough
to remedy internal bleeding
(Art my own)
The woman currently abiding
within this costumed realm
is merely a lethargic version
of the once-vital, now oppressed
miss, whose identification
was stolen by means of
unsolicited adversity.
The focus of this recanting
is to invite a perspective
that not only restores, but
aids in the teaching of other
shadow-selves, that to reassert
original nature is more than fair.
(I’ve stolen Stolen Identity from an earlier post. Art my own)
Betrayal hugs with enthusiasm
public displays of warmth
so charming
Betrayal clutches vials
and pockets the laundry money
and gives a cheeky wink
Betrayal taps the shoulder
and ducks before the reveal
grins like the Cheshire cat
Plays me like a top
spinning, spinning,
and toppling hard
till I’m bent over
head between my legs
glancing backward
Sure that I just saw
the white rabbit,
out of breath
Each word a pill
making me bigger
or smaller
Then off with my head
Betrayal has made me a pawn
till it tires of me and moves on….
(Image my own.)
One Woman's Quest 