Played host to insecurity –
catered to bullying
undermined by warped
agendas, butchered by
provincial minds –
sanitized lost vitality,
believed in phantoms
haunted by compulsions
deflected attempted rescues
ignored counsel to let go.
Where do I go from here?
Focus on caring
be receptive –
(Turning Point first appeared here December, 2015, a year and a half into isolation imposed by illness. I offer an edited version here with the intention of demonstrating the psychological toll of unexpected isolation. The loss of our routine, life, connections affects us all on many levels. Be kind to self and others. We all respond to that loss differently. Linking up with Eugi’s Causerie weekly prompt: enlighten. Image my own.)
Centred, I project merit
directed by routines
grief securely stored
Anxiety, not so compartmentalized
reveals that I am outsider, pliable,
pursues a validating response.
Perfectionism despises vulnerability
balance embraces contradictions
complexity overwhelms – I breath.
(Image from personal collection.)
She prepared me for the worst
omission of positives purposeful –
Saving me from disappointment
her justification for inflicted wounds –
Years, I’ve railed against her abuse
pointless since she’s long been a ghost.
Of course she is away
caught in the schism
of her parents’ divorce
played like a pawn
She is emotionally numb
incapable of articulating
wants and desires – broken
though no one notices.
(Poem originally appeared on Twitter. Visit me @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
as this soul may be
fear not this disarray –
I flow with a rhythm –
emphatic beats tuned
to love’s call.
(Image from personal collection)
Reach for her
across the abyss
of indifference –
would hold her dear
comfort her sorrows –
I now understand
have abandoned her
in the name of obligation,
this child that is me.
with so much intrusion –
child born of good intentions
awash in a trail of barricades
I cope, cook up breezes, strike
wet ground – stuff myself to satiate
the onslaught, ground rapidly shifting –
Earth Mother exerting presence –
too stubborn, I turn away, look for
God but my cup keeps moving –
I am unreachable, charmed by
a broken tale, aimless, oppositional
overwhelmed – cry out but absence
holds no listeners – need adhesive
to fix this urgency – a peerless torrent –
if only I could simply these wounds
find a stopgap – emotion overflows,
exerts turmoil, sorrow replaying
sleep offers no repair, alone,
tormented by the issue at hand.
(Every so often, I revisit old poems and revise. Sleeping Alone first appeared here in December of 2017, when I was still in the throes of severe illness. I’ve come along way and it’s good to look back and see the progress. I am also linking this up to my weekly challenge, reaching.)
Sporting crisply pressed regrets
and tight-assed judgments,
the past happened upon me,
caught me mid-mediocracy,
eye-balled me with a sneer,
and then strolled on by as if
I wasn’t even worth a ‘hello’.
Wait a minute, I cried out
trying to pull myself together,
noting too late, my lack of
grooming, how unfairly
I’d been caught off guard –
Wait! I’ve been wanting
to tell you…I mean… I was
just too young…
All in vain, he’d vanished,
left me gaping and rattled –
damned he looked good –
foolishly pining after
the past as something
A wounded creature, I circle the pack;
A laggard seeking inroads, missing cues;
A social wanna be without the smack –
This fogged state a waning of my hues.
My path a heartless road through blinding snow,
And I without a map or coat, alone –
To ask for help, a degradation – No!
Tis arrogance and stubbornness I own.
I’ll bide my time on sidelines crying ill,
Bemoan this wretched fate and limp along;
Til self-indulgence wears thin, then I will
By humble act, declare I do belong.
And in the end no consequence is worse:
Than mulish woman bearing no self-worth.
(This modest attempt at iambic pentameter is brought to you by the promptings of Frank at dVerse. Hope it wasn’t too painful.)
The initial spoonful –
salted caramel cool –
consoles bitten tongue,
slides down burning throat:
appeasement for churning gut.
Each spoonful savoured
sweetness countering bile,
dark chocolate shavings
as bittersweet as the emotion
being pushed down, buried
Bruised by conflict,
ice cream an unworthy
turn to salty reprieve.