Category: psychology

Let Light Lead

Thoughts, no more than grains,
block the path; how did I become
so invested in self-analysis:
a fool’s game, no winners

Light does not trip over molecules
but decorates, celebrates passage;
moves on – a hopeful dance
whose steps I’d do well to imitate

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

Forgiveness

Resting, I pray for peace
but it is temporary
guilt intervenes

What if I withdraw
commit to solitude
keep my tongue?

I need angel guidance
this mothering heart
infectious, requires wisdom

My past is soiled
I am stinking, tainted
Can forgiveness help?

Pick me up,
give me strength
I am lacking courage

Teach me moderation
modesty to guide my words
I only want to help…

But this vile thirst
this self-deprecation
reigns me in

What value have I
in a world stricken by need
my offering mere morsels?

I pray for peace
I pray for grace
Forgiveness offers a hand.

(Image my own).

The Photo Album

Adolescence doesn’t wear a smile
in our old photo album –
stares fixated on unseen lint –
distracted, we three sisters,
all reeling from the cold,
unwell, immobilized…

What is absent is the photographer
whose pointed directions critique
each decision – a derisive repetition
that eats at our souls, each girl
wrestling with self-nurture vs
self-annihilation, landing somewhere
in between – mannequin targets
for male abuse…

Oh, I tried to take up arms, rail against
the dominance, the oppression, but
only succeeded in settling for disconnection,
while one sister turned tricks for attention,
the other retreated into full dependency,
her madness, out of date, nevertheless
relevant – despite our tormenter’s death,
the images are permanently recorded
in that old photo album.

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)

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)