abuse · Family · mental-health · poetry · recovery


Have been unearthing the boxes
of my subconscious, clearing ill-
cast tales, intent on an end goal –
restitution at very least, but

my sister, no stomach for process,
wants to suction up the guck –
impatient for a quick cleanse –
plugs the workings:  therapy,

a finicky machine, falters,
water oozes between cracks;
we are flooded by mutual
wounds, personal emoting

ankle-deep in truths neither
can bear, waders, all thoughts
of sanctity dissolving, and I
espy cobwebs forming, corners

once cleansed – dysfunction’s
mockery of hope – reminder
that when roots are rotten,
scars are reluctant to heal.

abuse · dreams · Family · life · poetry · recovery

Weighted Down

Weighted down – I eat rocks
to anchor this restlessness –

unable to exit through any door,
trying to relocate self-assessment

to a sunnier place, contemplating
where I’d like to be; have checked

in, but no room is ready – shove it
all back underground – darkness

defining my horizons, my sister and I
meet here at the edge of denial, both

seeking calmer waters – she swims,
I crave a shower – we are haunted

in our sleep – shadows clouding our
dreams – projections of mermaid

possibilities, and electric blue skies;
I am gaining some ground, sifting

through basements, tossing old
ideals, cynically reminiscing, she

strokes through the debris of family
storms, ignores the rubbish polluting

her pool, maintains motion, while I
remain submerged, try to work out

a relationship with our father, long
since deceased, still present, find

solid ground – have opened the contents
of our stored horror, no choice but to carry

on, have been an actor in our staged
drama, no fame though to add acclaim,

only misguided endings, fragile audiences
and a sister who follows a different light.

(Image:  wallpapersblogspot.com)

abuse · disability · dreams · Family · life · poetry · recovery · spirituality

Renovating The Psyche

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: http://watersofnoah.blogspot.ca/2012/03/big-rock.html)