Inside my own chest
To reach in best
Fingers gripping
That beating entity
Clamping and ripping
Blood trickling down
Droplets soaking in the ground
Trembling hands and shaky arm
Reaching out
Inside my palm
Everything I'm about
My heart given to you
For you to decide what to do
Saturday, September 12, 2015
The Burning
On trial
with each new face;
each new set of ears
to hear my story
Like a witch in Salem
Some onlookers want
only the
burning glory
They watch
Waiting for the
flames to reach my hair
Eyes set ablaze
Into the flames
all their idle care
I'm called insane
I'm called daft
As I tie myself to the post
Like a burning host
I'm burning my own blame
Eradicating my own shame
So I tie myself
Time & time again
until the flames burn it all
Each piece of the past
torn off & thrown in
Hands behind my back
Eyes extended to heaven
until all the nightmares
are burned away
my lips mumbling the story
another day
I'm burning
I'm burning away
I'm burning
I'm burning the opaque day
I'm burning
I'm burning a new dream
I'm burning
I'm burning for another seam
I'm burning
I'm burning into night
I'm burning
I'm burning that phoenix into flight
with each new face;
each new set of ears
to hear my story
Like a witch in Salem
Some onlookers want
only the
burning glory
They watch
Waiting for the
flames to reach my hair
Eyes set ablaze
Into the flames
all their idle care
I'm called insane
I'm called daft
As I tie myself to the post
Like a burning host
I'm burning my own blame
Eradicating my own shame
So I tie myself
Time & time again
until the flames burn it all
Each piece of the past
torn off & thrown in
Hands behind my back
Eyes extended to heaven
until all the nightmares
are burned away
my lips mumbling the story
another day
I'm burning
I'm burning away
I'm burning
I'm burning the opaque day
I'm burning
I'm burning a new dream
I'm burning
I'm burning for another seam
I'm burning
I'm burning into night
I'm burning
I'm burning that phoenix into flight
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Shackles and Bones
Clinking
Clanging
Rusty chains
Bones just a'bangin
Skinny metatarsal scratching
Sandstone prison catching
Numbered days of a
loveless love
Shotgun wedding
and this cold prison
has no proper bedding
Shackles and bones
Fallen crowns
Empty thrones
Souls filling space
but there is no grace
Filing the papers to say
we're not alone
but this prison
is far from the ideal home
Shackles and bones
Shackles and bones
Tarnished ring
falling with a clanging echo
in endless tones
Clanging
Rusty chains
Bones just a'bangin
Skinny metatarsal scratching
Sandstone prison catching
Numbered days of a
loveless love
Shotgun wedding
and this cold prison
has no proper bedding
Shackles and bones
Fallen crowns
Empty thrones
Souls filling space
but there is no grace
Filing the papers to say
we're not alone
but this prison
is far from the ideal home
Shackles and bones
Shackles and bones
Tarnished ring
falling with a clanging echo
in endless tones
Sunday, August 30, 2015
Ramblings of the Night Before
I was crumpled up on the bedroom floor;
holding my belly and crying out "Dear God. How much more?"
It's the inner, tangled war I rarely discuss. It turns all my gold
to rust. My psychosomatic anomaly - where my insides look back
at me like I'm the enemy. My intestines twist and tangle - creating a
painful strangle. Every harsh word and every traumatic event seeped
way down deep. My body's most trusted self defense during a time
when nothing made sense; contract, relax, pull, twist, stretch, block,
pain, pain, pain, numb. My outer half walks on freely; relishing the
air and sun. My inner half still wonders and prepares itself - making
ready before any war has begun. It's so like a child that's been beat down.
Intestines crumble in - ready at any given moment for a new trauma to begin.
holding my belly and crying out "Dear God. How much more?"
It's the inner, tangled war I rarely discuss. It turns all my gold
to rust. My psychosomatic anomaly - where my insides look back
at me like I'm the enemy. My intestines twist and tangle - creating a
painful strangle. Every harsh word and every traumatic event seeped
way down deep. My body's most trusted self defense during a time
when nothing made sense; contract, relax, pull, twist, stretch, block,
pain, pain, pain, numb. My outer half walks on freely; relishing the
air and sun. My inner half still wonders and prepares itself - making
ready before any war has begun. It's so like a child that's been beat down.
Intestines crumble in - ready at any given moment for a new trauma to begin.
Quiescent Soul
She's fought so hard
Day in
Day out
Long into the night
screaming soul
quiet shout
Out of the battle
Having survived the
death rattle
Tired
So tired
Mending deepest wounds
Her eyes now close
sleeping soothe
The worst now over
A soul to now relax
stretch in plush clover
Having pushed past
the nightmares
& anxious flares
Sun on forehead
warming cares
She whispers in her sleep to me
"We survived"
Soul of my soul
No longer half
Now whole
Day in
Day out
Long into the night
screaming soul
quiet shout
Out of the battle
Having survived the
death rattle
Tired
So tired
Mending deepest wounds
Her eyes now close
sleeping soothe
The worst now over
A soul to now relax
stretch in plush clover
Having pushed past
the nightmares
& anxious flares
Sun on forehead
warming cares
She whispers in her sleep to me
"We survived"
Soul of my soul
No longer half
Now whole
What Domestic Violence Didn't Do
Domestic violence didn't break me. In fact, it did quite the opposite - it forced me to look within myself more to view what I had once seen as broken pieces of me and learn to love those pieces.
Domestic violence made me love myself again. Odd to say, but it's true. I was so invisible before. Now, I'm this person that freely discusses hard ass issues with ease. Self-care became a mode of survival when the hardest symptoms of PTSD first hit. Now, I perform self-care with such ease. I no longer make excuses for it or feel the need to explain. If I need to distance myself from all forms of life for a while, I do it and gladly (not for long, of course. My friends wouldn't stand for it).
Domestic violence did not take away my trust in other people. And by people, I mean men. The harshest comments I received when I first left my abuser, came from other women. Likewise, the kindest acts of generosity came from men. I have a trust in myself that cannot be taken away. I've been given the sublime opportunity to survive the most traumatic event in my life and now I have the tools necessary to go further than I ever imagined. I know all the subtle signs of domestic violence and all of the non-verbal signs that most take for granted. I learned that trusting and loving is an inside job and it starts with me. How the hell can I love or trust anyone if I don't love and trust myself?
Domestic violence did not take my ability to forgive. I forgive myself first. The rest is a process. I have a narcissistic mother that battles her own demons every single day but I do forgive her. She says some of the most hurtful things that simply are not worth repeating. My sweet Dad taught me the art of forgiveness. He came from a family that made me often wonder how he even survived. His own brother attempted to kill him with a machete when they were teenagers. Later, my Dad would tell us that story and he'd always laugh. "My dumb brother...God love him. I knocked his glasses off and he was as blind as a bat. He never tried it again, I'll tell you that." My Dad had a grace about him that I now model. And my Dad's brother? Adored him for forgiving him. My Dad's father was the most abusive soul that I ever met in my entire life. My Dad never let that become an excuse for his own failure. In fact, he simply moved on quietly and graciously and became one of the most respected plumber / pipefitters in his field. He was always looking out on the bright horizon. The harsh words of his father could've torn him down easily but he never let the words settle too deep. His soul remained a bright beacon of courage and strength.
Domestic violence did not take away my hope. It's hard being a single mother. The statistics of my financial success as a single mother are stacked against me but that does not obliterate my hope. My hopes and dreams are slowly coming into fruition of my new reality. I am extending myself further than I ever extended myself before and I'm always looking for ways to improve myself. Hope is my seed that I plant and my thoughts of my own success is the water that is making that seed grow.
Domestic violence made me love myself again. Odd to say, but it's true. I was so invisible before. Now, I'm this person that freely discusses hard ass issues with ease. Self-care became a mode of survival when the hardest symptoms of PTSD first hit. Now, I perform self-care with such ease. I no longer make excuses for it or feel the need to explain. If I need to distance myself from all forms of life for a while, I do it and gladly (not for long, of course. My friends wouldn't stand for it).
Domestic violence did not take away my trust in other people. And by people, I mean men. The harshest comments I received when I first left my abuser, came from other women. Likewise, the kindest acts of generosity came from men. I have a trust in myself that cannot be taken away. I've been given the sublime opportunity to survive the most traumatic event in my life and now I have the tools necessary to go further than I ever imagined. I know all the subtle signs of domestic violence and all of the non-verbal signs that most take for granted. I learned that trusting and loving is an inside job and it starts with me. How the hell can I love or trust anyone if I don't love and trust myself?
Domestic violence did not take my ability to forgive. I forgive myself first. The rest is a process. I have a narcissistic mother that battles her own demons every single day but I do forgive her. She says some of the most hurtful things that simply are not worth repeating. My sweet Dad taught me the art of forgiveness. He came from a family that made me often wonder how he even survived. His own brother attempted to kill him with a machete when they were teenagers. Later, my Dad would tell us that story and he'd always laugh. "My dumb brother...God love him. I knocked his glasses off and he was as blind as a bat. He never tried it again, I'll tell you that." My Dad had a grace about him that I now model. And my Dad's brother? Adored him for forgiving him. My Dad's father was the most abusive soul that I ever met in my entire life. My Dad never let that become an excuse for his own failure. In fact, he simply moved on quietly and graciously and became one of the most respected plumber / pipefitters in his field. He was always looking out on the bright horizon. The harsh words of his father could've torn him down easily but he never let the words settle too deep. His soul remained a bright beacon of courage and strength.
Domestic violence did not take away my hope. It's hard being a single mother. The statistics of my financial success as a single mother are stacked against me but that does not obliterate my hope. My hopes and dreams are slowly coming into fruition of my new reality. I am extending myself further than I ever extended myself before and I'm always looking for ways to improve myself. Hope is my seed that I plant and my thoughts of my own success is the water that is making that seed grow.
Sunday, August 16, 2015
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