Please Hang Up

I called you
that one time
poured my heart out
such despair

I called you.
You weren’t there.
Left a message –
garbled words
rushed to beat
inevitable beep.

Regret immediate
then panic
ineradicable
the outpouring
of a lonely heart
fantasizing.

I called you.
You didn’t answer.
You never called back.

Thank you for that.

(I found this poem on my other blog, and have given it a new title. 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her madness, out of date, nevertheless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.

Pestilence

Words, like crickets,
leap from my mind –
chirping pests
whose trajectory
eludes my dulled
reflexes, scuttling
around the periphery
of my awareness

Harmless, really,
in the singular,
a cacophony
in multitudes
threatening
to multiply further
and destroy any
semblance of sanity

I must intuit
their rhythm,
define the notes
in workable phrases,
capture the essence
of their meaning
and inscribe the message
before they disappear again.

(Pestilence of Words first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, October 2016. Edited for this edition. Image my own.)

Age Has Her Own Quest

What is it that a woman of maturity quests for?

Autonomy: to feel that her decisions/wants/needs
are not overshadowed by the dictates of another,
or by a past that is forever looming.

Empowerment: to know, once and for all, that
the victim is laid to rest, so that she can embrace
her authentic self.

Inner peace: to live without guilt or the need for
permission. To be able to forgive and self and other
in order to be free. To trust, innately, her own
inner resources, releasing fear’s hold.

Sacredness: to stand firmly upon the Earth,
breathe freely, and engage with life. To make
a difference.

Celebration: to live with anticipation, surprise,
and ultimately joy.

Connection: to recognize in each living moment
that none of the above is obtained in a bubble.
I quest for true connection. The bravest quest of all.

(Reading through old posts I came across one from November, 2014 which inspired this write. Image my own.)

Possessed

Does resolution follow inquisition?
History suggests otherwise…

Yet, here we are
seeking enlightenment,
counting on understanding
to amend the unresolved

Wrestling with denial
praying that research
will unravel falsities,
berate the inappropriate

Good and evil vying
for omnipotence
each of us personally engaged

Righteousness
such a vile possession.

(Image my own)

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.