Tag: psychology

The Lie

I lied.

The initial seed of disappointment has fermented,
and in the absence of confrontation, grown roots

written sorrowful chapters
conclusion: unworthiness

Why couldn’t I just have said:
I don’t understand
this makes me unhappy?

Where did I learn that prevarication protects
that I alone am responsible for emotions
that I do not matter?

Decades later
I still cannot uproot the weed.
The lie remains.

(Image my own)

Where Are The Dogs?

Contemplating risk –
a reunion with a former self
looking for an exit

When did I become a snake
restrained?
When did I become persona non grata?

I slither between stories
convince myself I can fly
distraction a ruse

I have big cat energy
overstepping boundaries
socially adverse

A faulty jewel
dreaming of abundance
 but there’s a dragon to disarm

My mother’s burden on my back
identity a slippery grasp
always outrunning disaster

Fraternize with celebrity, but
too busy boarding
Warehousing:

spiders in the cellar
straight pins on the floor
newspapers akimbo

How will I put self first
while catering to others, upended?
Unable to park this relentless ache

Boundaries, my soul cries
Enact self protection
Install dogs at the door.

(Image my own)

Tenuous

It’s not like I didn’t know
that life is tenuous
and death a given

I chose to ignore the signs –
seems that which we avoid
has a way of catching up

I pin-balled my way
searching for something
undefinable

A break from responsibility?
a Saviour?
Condemned myself as failure

Sentenced to a lifetime
of love lacking
How does one traverse such margins?
Re-engage in the face of rejection?

I have pen,
and thoughts,
and maybe
if I bleed enough,
the path will be revealed.

(Image my own)

Reaching the Inner Child

If pain spoke
less with intimidation
more with invitation

then I might dare
to shuffle closer
attentive and open

Find a fear cornered there
set behind the tautness
barred vulnerability

Speak softly,
intuition would counsel,
approach with tenderness

I would behold
the extent of the injury
length and breadth of abuse

A child dwells in these spaces
believing she’s protected
lonely and alive

Neglect having brutalized her edges
she cowers and yet, curiosity and
hope still hold space in her eyes

I will sit with her in silence
match my rhythm to hers
settle on a calmer resonance

Pain, I’ll offer
is not your fault –
You don’t need to bear it alone

And when, or if
she sidles closer
I will hold steady

Ignore the stench of bleeding
the disarray of matted locks
the sweat of abandonment

And tell her she is beautiful
a soul created in God’s likeness
a cherished one

She’ll not believe me, of course
For that will take time
and the building of trust

But should I stay
soft and warm
and listening

One day I’ll hear her speak:
Would it be okay
if we went outside to play?

(Image my own)

Paralysis

Paralysis desecrates floorboards
leaves me suspended…
the skeletons of lost dreams
sprawled out beneath me…
disordered

I am powerless
against the nightly haunts:
a dispirited youth
a righteous mother,
that lonesome child…

Judgment has a long shadow
and slits for eyes…
I don blinders –
tunnelled between
guilt and loathing

This onslaught,
this psychic terrorism
mocks my immobility
forces me to mine
forgotten pith

Survival, instinctual,
steels against the assault
raises prayer
as antidote

An armless attempt
to assert will over fear –
hoping strength restores
vulnerability’s war cry.

(Image mine)

Hiding Shame

When did guilt obviate
the need for sustenance?

This deipnophobia paralyzing
heartless stares dredge up

my truth: insatiable hunger
need to stuff down emotion

the certainty that I deserved
the abuse – endless shame

My fork traces the outlines
separates food groups

My mind makes mental notes
of what I’ll gorge on later.

(Deipnophobia is the fear of dining in public. I watched my older sister avoid eating when with others, and then gorge afterwards. I had not known there was a term for it until I came across this prompt. Image my own.)

That’s What I Fear

“A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes where she will without pretence and arrives at her destination prepared to be herself and only herself.”
– Maya Angelo

I fear living.

No, that’s not it.

I love living…
…but I fear engagement…
…drowning in engagement

Except, I love engagement…
… but only when I dip my toe in the waters
and feel the thrill…
and can still maintain control.

I fear losing control. I fear no longer being able to call the shots, life demanding more of me than I’m willing (or able) to give.

I’m willing to give…
… to a certain point…
…can no longer afford to be sapped dry, wrung out
and discarded… so much hurt
so much betrayal…
such lack of appreciation

I have given.
I have loved and sacrificed and cherished and
given…
…up…
…self

It’s self I’m afraid of losing
and why not?
I am only just able to touch her

She and I, still hesitant
building a certainty
a mutual admiration
respect…

And should I be called upon
to give…too much…well…

I could lose her again.

This is what I fear.

(Two separate blog posts hit me this week. The first offering the Angelo quotation (sorry, I can’t remember the blog’s name) and the second from my friend Dr Andrea Dinardo, who offers the question: What’s Under the Fear? Dr D offers a five step process for self-discovery. This is my response. Image my own. The poem also fits with my weekly challenge theme: except)