psychology – Page 5 – One Woman's Quest

Chasms

Old friend, I would visit you
but this compulsive state of
martyrdom delays our reunion;
then you slip my mind.

You wouldn’t recognize me –
this mask I wear, a product
of the toxicity that I play host to,
puts a life on my kind-heartedness

I want to be helpful
but carry a burden of failures –
ghosts from childhood home
that plug my memory

I have hurt so many,
neglected, now lost; family –
these useless ties are shadows
lurking, directing me –

I am sensitive, wanting
to exile the negativity, have been
taught to be considerate, but
cannot erase the inconsistencies

Spend too much time
browsing, delivering a fragment
of the torment that lies within;
am over-involved with self

Really want to be my best
in search of something greater
but today the frustration
is too raw, am at a loss

Old friend, I have reverted back
to dependence, manipulating,
am mentally unstable,
cannot find closure

in all the scattered pieces –
all I have to offer are bit,
disappointing, really – stored
memories that menace

Believe me when I say
I am working hard; want to start
fresh, have a goal in mind,
have not forgotten you

but am running out of
options, frustrated, can’t catch
a break, as the distance
between us widens.

(Chasms first appeared here October, 2106. Image my own)

Most Saturdays I include an audio recording, but this week my voice is not cooperating.

Unwanted For Life

I misread the cues
come to the table
without questioning
validity of invite;
fail to notice
bodies turned away,
eyes darting elsewhere

Only in retrospect
does the lens betray the lie –
carefully choreographed photos
declaring me irrelevant

Shame directs me
to poorly lit corners
finds me oversharing
with dubious partners
left exposed and violated

I don’t belong here;
part company too late;
never know how to save face

I move on
directionless,
but determined…
surely there is a place
will accept me
beyond tolerance…
somewhere safe…

But my compass is broken,
intentions haphazard –
impossible to replicate
that which is unknown;
such is the legacy
of the unwanted child.

(Image my own)

Memories (Tanka)

Physical distance
no remedy for dark past
those childhood bruises
etched on old bones – solid as
the house that bore them witness.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Who Am I, If Not Responsible?

This pedestal of responsibility
elevates me out of reach,
out of touch, lumps together
childrenspousemothersister

Caregiver extraordinaire,
present overcrowded by
obligations, am unwell,
off topic, fed up…surely

I am other abled, have room
for more, non-martyr related –
hesitant to plan, my purpose
for being so intricately tuned

to the needs of others, should
quit while I’m ahead – silence
the noisy uncertainty, free us
all from this unhealthy game.

(Image my own. Poem first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, September 2016)

My Spirit Stands Strong

Progress, seldom linear,
tosses me into unexpected decline,
stranded and incapacitated.

My son with labour-hardened arms
leaps to my side, steadying me
and I feel the fear in his caring grip

My daughter, ever compassionate,
reaches out, eyes filled with horror
as my body crumples onto the bed.

My husband, my oak, seeks to comfort
his voice betraying the helplessness
this futile predicament imposes.

Beloveds, I know that you see me
this dis-abled, non-functioning shell
weakened and sickly, lying on this bed

Do not be deceived-
it is only an illusion –
vessel temporarily fettered

I am in essence, as before
ambitions and desires intact
hold this version of me

Sense the wholeness of my being
the woman I am yet to be –
my spirit stands strong.

(My Spirit Stands Strong first appeared here August, 2015; edited for this version.
Image my own)

Alleys

What is it about alleys
magnifies fear?

Is it the reflection
of inner passages,
those narrow, dim lit
years, when despair
echoed endlessly?

Days I forgot
to look for light,
imagined none

discredited the truth
that glory dwells
even in dark alleys.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Child Defines Self

Too many bodies
encroach on peace;
I lack boundaries,
the self-worth
required to assert
needs – dwell
in basements,
mind cluttered,
external noise
obliterating me

Backdoor provides
escape, backyard,
back gate…
…freedom
I disappear
into the quiet
of the wild:
wooded sanctuary,
flowing water,
watchful eyes
of birds overhead

Here, I define self.

(Image my own)

Treasure

Beneath vulnerability,
a piccolo, a sprite –
a tiny being with might,
a heart that shines,
radiance unsurpassed

One must dig past
brambles and spikes,
peel back wall of dislikes –
essence dwells in a den,
like buried treasure.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Grains

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.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

Childhood Home

The place remains in my dreams
like a movie set preserved…

Have assigned each room
a critique – disclosed the crimes

Yet, it remains, like a beacon
draws me to it, begs reflection

What if I could go back
now that I can breathe

Now that I’ve laid claim to maturity;
would I discover a sudden windfall?

Makeover conditioned motifs;
reevaluate ceiling heights?

With resources to remodel
heart open, connected

might I uncover abundance
like a personal embrace.

(Childhood Home first appeared May, 2020. Image my own)