sludge is my body
sludge is my mind
in the early hours
consciousness fights
for breath
awareness
is swallowed up
submersed
resurfaces
fragmented
overloaded
messages chime
phones ring
voices
worlds away
the altered reality
of disability
has claimed me.
Stubbornly, I follow
my desires and motivations
over the edge, humbly
rediscovering
my sorry limitations.
Calling home, hoping
for a sensible response –
reliable, clear-headed –
(I should know better –
no one like that exists
where I come from).
Miss Vanity and Ms. Martyr
come to the rescue, with
Perfect baby, Spirited baby
and the Despondent One
in tow, along with
adolescent Asperger,
awkwardly incapable
of social intercourse.
Doubtful of their intentions,
certain of their impracticability
and suspicious of neglect
I pull back, angered,
threatening to exert independence;
I don’t need anybody
least of all, you people.
Miss Selfless smiles reassuringly
gesturing for my compliance –
she has everything under control
there is room for everybody –
I climb on board –
surprisingly comforted,
conceding assumptions.
I am embarrassed by my situation,
in need of repair…
Approach cautiously, I warn
it’s a steep state of decline.
My stories, exposed, overlap,
piles of debris cluttering
where hope should dwell.
This is not a place for children,
or the pure of heart.
I feel trapped, but don’t express it.
Ms Forever Up and Miss I’ll Pray For You
smile as if to say:
Don’t worry, Silly,
we’ll clean this up in no time.
And look after the babies?
And look after the babies.
Weariness begs me to surrender,
trust these dubious cons –
too overwhelmed and overcome
to care, resigned to repeat
the drama of the past –
fearing this is my lot.
Dissatisfaction niggles
Don’t give up –
there is more to aspire to
a greater dream to dream
give it time, give it time
and quit driving yourself
beyond the confines
of this current state
of dis-able-ment.
“You’re mother’s in the hospital.”              It’s cancer!             Be brave!             “Your cousins are dead; all perished.”             Don’t speak of it.             You’ll upset others.            “Dad is not what you think he is.”            We have secrets.           Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.           “Your sister is pregnant.”           It’s a disgrace!           They need my help.         “Mother’s back is broken.”          Go away!      I am not wanted.     “Mom is not coping.”      Keep the baby quiet.     It’s all on my shoulders.     Suicide attempts    drug use   more deaths   illness   divorce   sexual promiscuity   breakdowns   insanity    spiraling out of control  Hold it together  We count on you.  I am responsible. I am strong. They need me.  Chaos collusion
runaway rape “I have to leave.” I’ll save you. It’s never-ending.  I’m losing control. STOP!                                              WAIT!
I AM Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â WEAK
NOTÂ Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â ABLE
to
breathe
broken
need
space
I learn to be,
gain strength from
knowledge, baby steps
Let         go
and        let
God        heal
restore            revival
The Earth beneath me my protector; the sky above salvation; I am safe.
“You’re Mother is in the hospital.”   She wants to die.  I must be strong.
The walls around me crumble…
I am losing ground…
… a child again.
I would entertain confidence,
but here, on the edge of emotion
(others before self )
I am ungrounded.
I gesture kindness
(a shady, alluring reconciliation)
your heart unavailable
distracted and driven.
Pushed aside, I am
(non-conformist)
ostracized,
still raw.
I ponder relationships
(incensed and violated)
worthy of investigation –
these many sides of self.
Sidestepping social niceties
(I am righteously enraged)
personal indignation
makes for interesting dynamics.
Exile is hurtful,
unacceptable – I look
for a voice – pause –
your expectations a brick wall.
Obligations temporarily overloading,
executive functioning down,
my exterior collapses –
we fall out.
Remember when we were lovers,
and would stay all out night –
me full of bravado,
you coaxing one more drink?
I’d awaken the next morning
head thick and fogged
and you’d reassure me
that the car was in the driveway
safe and sound
and want to do it all over again
but I’d have to work,
so you would sulk all day
until you could sweep me up once more.
“You’re going to burn out before you’re 25”
a co-worker told me
and you just laughed and said:
“Not me, I’m invincible!”
and we’d dance the night away
never knowing where we’d end up
or how we got there.
When did it change for us?
When did you abandon me?
Was it the day we lost four friends-
all dead in a fiery crash –
a tragic combination of speed and alcohol
that fateful long weekend?
Or was it that time
you let me get into that car
told me I’d be okay
flattered me that a man so handsome
would want my company
then left me alone
to be raped?
Maybe it was me that
just couldn’t look you in the face anymore
deceived by your recklessness,
seized by the recognition
of your self-serving ways.
Time and obligations
have made me forget you,
yet every once in awhile,
I dream of those days
when we watched the sun come up
then sleepless and still buzzed
faced the world – our oyster –
as if nothing could tear us down.
A singular activity
suffices not to distract
from underlying pain –
multi-task.
Robotic attentiveness
fails to allay
constant buzzing –
re-focus.
Sidestepping issues
elicits no solace,
unravelling inevitable –
shutdown.
I am trapped
in solitary confinement,
sensory deprivation –
unleashed
momentous force
raging within
boring outwards –
scream
silently, alone,
unheard, unseen,
unburdening –
repent.
Self-pity dead ends,
breathe in life,
suppress negativity –
re-align.
Multi-tasking
ignites purpose,
smacks of productivity –
conceals.
Open to healing –
delve into the subconscious
create a space for inspiration.
Ignore limited capabilities –
no offerings are meager –
enter with pure intentions.
Embrace new starts
have faith in ability
be spurred into action.
The Self holds the answers,
creative expression is the key.
No expertise required.
I used to ride the New Age train
finding answers in the stars
unlocking the Mysteries of the Universe
a warrior for peace.
I was a see-er, an analyser
purporting to spew wisdom
a vehicle for a higher power
a spiritual guide.
It was like riding the bull
in a rodeo show –
fast and entertaining
but not sustaining.
And when I fell –
as surely we all do –
only the dust in my mouth
attested to my momentary ride.
The crowds have moved on
nothing to see here anymore
just post theatrical let down –
the show is over.
I was the mirror in the funhouse
distorting images of reality
believing I offered insight
unaware of the duplicity.
Magical thinking is
the merry-go-round of life
spinning fantasies
of wonder and revelation.
In the end, it is uncertainty,
not creed or indoctrination,
that rules destinies –
change is the only given.
I didn’t cry when you died in that fire,
you and your sisters and brother.
I didn’t cry when we saw the images on the news –
the charred remains of your house,
four stretchers with black tarps being carried from the scene.
I didn’t cry when we all crowded around the coffin –
one built for four – your bodies reduced to nothing –
family members wailing in disbelief.
I didn’t cry, because I couldn’t.
Your bright eyes haunted me –
that impish smile of yours
cutting through my soul
taunting me, as you always did –
your quick tongue and high energy
dancing around me, making my head spin –
raising my ire until I could take no more.I wish you were dead, Billy!
I’d said it out loud.
Said it in front of everyone.
Said it with spite and meant it.
Said it, only days before the fire.
I know they know.
I can tell by the way they all hold each other,
and cry into their handkerchiefs
and don’t look at me.
I can tell they know it is my fault.
I know it is my fault.
I didn’t really mean it, Billy.
I didn’t really mean it, God.
We were just playing around.
Billy and me, it’s how we are.
We were just fooling.
Billy’d always make me mad,
then we’d make up – everytime
I swear.
Please God, make it not so.
I won’t fight with him anymore, I promise.
I only fight with him ’cause I like him.
You know how it is with boys and girls.
Billy’s my cousin. I love him.
Please send him back God.
I’ll be good and learn to tame my temper –
Mommy always tells me to watch my temper –
I’ll be good, you’ll see.
I didn’t mean for you to kill all of them –
well…I didn’t really mean for any of them –
it’s just something you say –
when you’re ten and don’t know any better.
She’s not in the kitchen –
presiding over the preparations,
thriving amidst the chatter,
tutting away thieving hands.
She’s not in the classroom –
mastering subjects,
upholding order,
ruling with a charitable hand.
Nor is she at social affairs –
smiling regally,
head bent in rapt attention,
compassion oozing forth.
The Queen is missing –
the poise and grace
that marked her carriage
has vanished without a trace.
Don’t ask the old woman –
tottering down the lane
stooped and stumbling –
she’s not all there.
Her mind’s a trickster,
her ego a petulant child
unwilling to concede wrong –
she’s merely the court jester.
One Woman's Quest 