Hurdles line up
before me, am I
at the starting gate?
Who will hire me?
Will I be able to learn?
Can I leave the house?
Each bar set higher,
formidable tasks
to achieve, doubting..
state of dependence,
chronic ailments,
undercut propulsion..
have cleared course
of busy, overworking
professional attire..
have the motivation
to rejoin the race,
but legs lack spring;
picture myself tripping,
tossed, sunny side up,
too outdated to win.
(Image:Â www.postonline.co.uk)
My father’s kingdom his castle;
I inherited his strife, witnessed
years of control and submission
felt used, undervalued, robbed;
Was overinvolved responsibly,
misunderstood the nature of his
anguish, drew attention to myself
interpreting his pain as personal.
Our Father’s mansion (no place
for inanimate objects) nurtures
wisdom, recalls neglect, reflects
on life choices, lack of wholeness.
I am called Home, lifted from
introspection regurgitating
old stories, see the youthful
exaggeration, adult immaturity
have a lot to learn – like a child
throwing a tantrum – emotional,
disappointed, destructive – hurt,
lacking constructive perspective;
need to dwell in a house without
walls, free from guilt of neglected
obligations, wounding relieved
by the light of a greater purpose.
(Image:Â www.themainewire.com)
Find comfort amongst bloggers,
witness the birth of writers,
misplace my own purpose, fallen
gather ideas, maintain my shame;
I am a fictional character, having
miscarried my own story, declined
into dirt – dangerous; energy limited,
no stores to drive me, never really
known a home where peace dwells,
where brilliance is nurtured, worn
down with beatings, ascribed to
independence too young, immature
chose boisterousness over gentleness,
became a second/third-hand wife,
parent, place last behind responsibility.
beat myself up now over my stupidity,
lack of credibility, an obligatory failure –
any wisdom preserved redundant.
Stop already! Â This is but a one-sided
tale coloured by shame – change the
lens, multiple stories await birthing
find comfort amongst bloggers,
witness the growth of writers,
recognize the shared experience.
Keep distance!
Inner child
intimate with abuse;
a sad comedian
spontaneity ploy
masking deadness –
major screwup –
God’s grace
unscathed
minus mishaps
hip movement
frozen scream
roads collide
life on periphery
repercussions
cognitive gears
breaking ice
encountering foes
reflexes delayed
safety intangible
borrowing time
health a trial
defeat conceded
relinquished control
Keep distance!
Inner child
driving the show.
Motoring through duality,
straining, in the middle –
socialized, yet reticent –
My heart is overflowing,
like an unwatched sink
falling apart, too much
Driving, the past’s rain
blurring any joy; feel
dirty, taut, losing control
Harm vanishes, comes
back around; hosting
good intentions, rank;
Progression entirely
defined by vulnerability
smothering celebration
Towed along by sweetness
of children, dining on their
innocence banishes despair.
Taking ownership of this mess
I call life, creates a priority of
care – a surrogate for the inner
sapling, not too motherly, just
accepting; to lead her past the
overpopulated vines of despair,
root out evil, restore the good –
a kindred spirit to ease her little
soul – no officious, insecure, put-
me-down parent, but dedicated,
motivational re-schooling, able
to fulfill needs, entertain, assist
in uncovering substance, insure
she has meaning to latch onto.
To help you find direction, Child,
I will tend to your needs, honour
the artistry of your growing mind –
a brilliance to nurture – encourage
flights of fancy: never fear pushing
boundaries of conventional thought  –
offer you strength of connection,
value your courage, prod hard work,
allow for wildness, questioning;
teach you not to quit before miracle
happens, demonstrate that life is
opportunity, Â that character will be
tested, and that  comfort can be
found in the spiritual – deliverance
is possible – above all to know that
you are loved, nurtured, valued and
together, through it all, we will prevail.
(Image from private collection)
I cannot bear the responsibility
for my brother’s pain, separated
as he was from my mother, raised
in his own kind of hell, estranged;
could not save him from himself
even if I tied him to me, carried
him by my side, bore his shame,
supported him by finding work.
I would just be trying to resurrect
old dreams, choosing to follow
already trodden paths, repeating
patterns of partnering with failure;
stir up memories of abuse, relive
the discomfort, castigate myself
anew for not asserting propriety,
contemplate revisiting the old.
No, I am not my brother’s keeper;
cannot right what has been lost;
only in looking forward can we
hope to bridge our familial ties.
(Image: Â quotesgram.com)
Sudden clarity rocks
my inner landscape;
breakthrough under –
standing that what has
formed my foundation,
as woman, as human,
has been marred by
mixed messages, lack
of healthy boundaries;
sheer absence of self-
preserving beliefs has
contributed to a legacy
of abuse and translated
into guilt, shame and
intolerable self-loathing.
(Image from paddle8.com)
Pardon the mess, but currently
renovating the psyche, moving
rape to a separate apartment,
trying to make room for God.
Heart is the crux of my home,
space for recreation essential,
my family is growing, roots
spreading outwards, Muslims
now amongst our beloveds.
I need to be present – useful
to communicate without
appearing challenged – hope
the elephant in the room
does not describe me, signs
of burning startling – smoking
is not permitted here – breath
is a requirement; I live here!
Dare I reveal, make a scene?
I’ve made my bed, better to
stay conservative, constrict
airways; don’t need much to
get by: a modest income,
marriage insurance, quiet
appliances, easy navigation.
Post overhaul, I’m hoping for
less complications, more flow,
compartmentalized sanity so
that God will stop questioning.
(Image:Â http://watersofnoah.blogspot.ca/2012/03/big-rock.html)
undigested chunks
of memory spew from
depths of unconscious
regurgitated masses
of bloodied solids
mingled with mush
too repulsed to touch
unable to fathom
what force-fed garbage
initiated mind vomit;
churning emotions
physical revulsion
dreams of childhood
mutilated, ravaged
innocence, fragmented
images soaked in blood,
cry for acknowledgment
cannot stop convulsions
maggots exploding
in my brain, sucking
my soul, threatening
darkness, I am falling
backwards, consumed,
frail state of control
lapsing in this cesspool
of filth, remembering
unimaginable abuses.
(Image:Â http://derekjones.deviantart.com/art/troubled-soul-437229975)
One Woman's Quest 