Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
Decisions weighty
I plan but am divided
half sailing; half cowering
Optimism cheery
experience berating
Nested in tradition
craving alternatives
Can I not see that plans
are investments,
overcome the fear
in favour of expansion.
(Writing this I am reminded of the saying: “I used to be indecisive; now I’m not so sure.” Image my own.)
– 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)
Played host to insecurity –
catered to bullying
undermined by warped
agendas, butchered by
provincial minds –
Retreated, convalesced,
sanitized lost vitality,
believed in phantoms
haunted by compulsions
deflected attempted rescues
ignored counsel to let go.
Shell-shocked
aftermaths
incoherent
self-judgment
inescapable.
Where do I go from here?
Ignore criticism
disarm cruelty
sanctify privacy
detach, discern
redefine boundaries
embrace enlightenment
Focus on caring
be receptive –
choose life.
(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.)
Fragmented
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 –
empty promises,
I now understand
have abandoned her
countless times
in the name of obligation,
this child that is me.
Sleeping alone
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
righteousness, imagining
the past as something
tangible, curable….
