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Grace
Grace
She soars at the top above us all
Looking upon clouds that hold the angels as they dream
Still she is uncertain of her position in this grand scheme.
In midnight hours in my arms she speaks
Heavy with expectation she exclaims
The rivers will over flow
We’ll breathe air once more as if God himself into our lungs blew
And tip toe through rolling hills of grasses green.
In trees once extinct nesting birds will feed their young
And sing songs in languages long forgotten.
My ears sting with every word but I dare not hint at my dismay.
Where are you my love?
In this paradise where are you?
Silence falls like her eyes from the ceiling to the floor
For through rose coloured glasses she holds out hope for the lost
But denies herself the same grace.
A cloudy heaven rains upon her hell filling filthy rivers to their breaking point.
Wings that once fluttered are grounded to the earth
As dry bones laying open to the elements so too is her soul empty and exposed.
She has forgotten the sound of a pleasured heart beat and sigh of relief.
Like long lost tongues it has been written but never again heard.
How?
How does she do it?
How does she hold out hope for everyone but herself or
Find beauty in the smallest of things then fail to see her own?
Joan of Arc inside Morton’s Pride
Hurt, Choices, Survivor’s Decree
Hurt
A cocky slouch in the doorway is mother peering in at the little girl on the unmade bed.
There are no ruffles, no white sheets or painted pictures on the walls.
There is no closet full of brand new dresses or chest of teddy bears and dolls.
Just your youngest daughter bound, motionless, emotionless, waiting.
Your slick black raincoat dusts the floor as
You take your time crossing the room.
Body quaking with intensity
Eyes focused on mine searching for any sign that I understand
You intend to make this hurt.
——
Here it is nearly 4am and I’m up as if I’ve had a full night of sleep or something….like I’m going to be refreshed tomorrow and able to think. This whole therapy subject makes me want to vomit. Enola wrote a post talking about if she knew what she knows now about her healing path would she still choose to heal. I’m paraphrasing that. Even though this is incredibly hard and EVERYTHING is triggering and NOTHING pleases me right now I still have the choice to heal or not heal. I have the choice to get better or stay stuck. You know, that’s the difference between when I was a child and now. As a child I had few choices. I was hurt. Period. I did what I was told to do. Period. But as an adult I relish the thought that I have choices. They’re hard ones but they’re mine. And you know what? That’s freedom at it’s best. Choices. I like them.
My Survivor’s Decree
It is a daunting task to balance the past with the present and not curl up and cease to exist. My strength becomes less and less with each battle with depression, flashbacks and body memories. Every part of my life is touched by what happened to me. Sometimes I feel strong but most of the time I do not. I journal regularly so that I have a place to relieve some of the stress. When I write in my journal I’m given and outlet for these extreme emotions. There are times when I am tired of fighting for peace of mind but I understand I do not have to fight. I do not have to heal. I have the choice to heal or stay divided, confused, fearful and maimed. I have chosen to heal and God willing, I will.
………You intend to make this hurt.
You’ve planned this out but never did you consider my determination to make life good.
As you crossed the floor, eyes fixed on mine did you see hope that never dies?
Did you see a spark, the one that burns beyond black soars and ligaments
Fear and desperation
To ignite into peace
Peace of mind that dances with daisies then rests beside strong oak trees.
Joan of Arc for Morton’s Pride
Silent
All I want from you is your silence.
Lips tight, withholding words with grandiose, sometimes hidden meaning
Sure to confuse and muddy already tainted waters.
Certain to leave me wondering what language you created
That can take me from a standing bloom to uprooted ragweed
With the manipulative combination of a verb, an adjective and a look.
What language is this you speak?
Please keep beneath pink lips any words you could think to utter
In validation of my filth or condemnation of this distorted being you molded.
Silent. Be silent.
As my mind begins to rumble at the same frantic, desperate beat of my heart
Only then must you part your mouth.
Abandon please the colorful words, the dramatized spilling forth of sorrow and pain.
Just kneel before me and take back every word you ever said.
Words I’ll forget if you just open your mouth and return the past into you.
Joan of Arc
Thursday, February 21, 2008, 5:54 pm
The Rest of Her Life
She said today is the first day of the rest of her life
As if something from yesterday faded away
And a new hope had been born.
As if today’s sunrise forever burned out midnight hours and
Melted cold hard tears that slowly fell down the window of her eyes.
Today is the first day of the rest of her life.
How could she know?
How can she be so sure?
Confident, tall, proudly she saunters across the alley way to the market where fresh peaches and spring flowers line the walk.
A smile crosses her face and is contagious to his.
“Today!” she says.
Today? He says.
“Yes, the rest of my life.”
So sure.
She’s sure.
Art Title: Looking Forward (This painting can be seen in my galleries on Sundrip.com)
Poem Title: The Rest of Her Life written Saturday, February 9, 2008, 3:05 am
Poetic Accomplishments
Multi grain nut bread rising – one loaf
Rag doll stained for that antique look accomplished in just a few dips.
Two emails out to one major dip.
White toast I munched then swept the crumbs away
To a bag overflowing since yesterday.
Data transferred, saved and filed.
Lighter flicked, candles lit.
Litter box cleaned and sweeper run.
One more smile before my day is done.
Sipping soup from a mug the size of Texas I watch my girls
All fuzzy and content with catnip satisfaction.
In the softest spot by the window sill they settle to
Steal a moment for one more purr, one more doze before the close of the afternoon sun.
In a back yard in the suburbs small
A large black dog he goes a charge after a rollie ball in chaotic bounce.
Slobbering, prancing he never suspects
A bath is sure to follow when one rolls in winter’s remnants.
What sweet joy in one day’s results of chomping, dipping, charging and sewing
Playing, chatting, resolving and growing.
——-
So that’s what I’ve done today. I’ll return comments either later today or tomorrow afternoon. There’s a lot more I have to say on being strong. But for now I’d rather go smell some multi-grain nut bread and sip decaf coffee.
J of A
Poetic Accomplishments
Friday, January 25, 2008-4:22PM EST
The Rescuers Light
Here in your light
Where you took me from her
You swear her grasp will mean nothing, but
I find no grounds for this claim on hope
When day has failed to break the night or
Immobilize its forces and stall its return.
I find no refuge from past days in silenced light.
No quiet, only voices that haunt.
No streams rushing in with waves of peace.
Only wreckage from ships long lost.
Each wave crashes one against the other,
Insistent that it find me first.
Impatient with thirst for assault
Always unsatisfied with the results.
Like a tidal wave is comes
Bringing stones who befriend stones with spiny little things
To compete for title “Champion Who Taunts Thy Soul”.
Hard, fast, angry and hungry,
It never seems to tire.
Surely you will tire, dry up and disappear.
Never will that happen when lakes find their path to rivers
And rivers to the mouth of an unquenchable sea.
Knight in Shining Armor you declared, “The light is on.”
In your victory ride you flaunted the flag of conquest
Having never prepared for the biggest war of all,
Stop the tide,
Calm the sea and
Rescue me from me.
The Rescuers Light (she may be gone but I’m still covered in darkness)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008-10:45PM EST
A Crazy Kind of Valentine
A cold winter’s night in West Virginia changed my life forever. Huddled together, five strangers fought the cold in a dingy room in the East wing of the State Hospital for the Mentally Insane. There where I spent countless hours receiving Electro-Convulsive Shock Therapy I met the woman who would forever change my ideas of love.
A religious awakening unfolded before me as I watched you in your brilliant white robe trying to free yourself with shards of shattered glass which one night earlier fell victim to your ceaseless howls. How beautifully angelic this agony. Read more »
Mercy
Please be quiet.
Be quiet.
Softly she whispered, be quiet.
Mind of horror and dreams unseen.
Mind of unfilled tasks and time hands stuck on twelve.
Be quiet.
Be quiet she whispered softly.
Fingers in the crease of her brow holding onto frown lines as if they were some sort of hope that should never slip through her fingers again.
Holding in the sockets of her eyes.
Holding into place the brown that sees the world in colours no man can really imagine.
Head to the floor.
Eyes tight shutting out, squeezing out and locking in what she holds dear.
The little peace of mind she has left
Like music it would play if only it could.
But nay, no it screams on in a mind tortured by unquiet, unsettling reminders of yesterday.
Be quiet.
Be quiet she whispered softly.
Please be quiet.
The Long Walk Home
I eat to self soothe.
I don’t know anymore if I’m hungry or anxious
Afraid or malnourished.
I run when I should walk.
Rest when I should worry.
I don’t know anymore if I should start, stop or keeping going.
Tears behind laughter give rise to anger.
I haven’t shown you my true face.
I’ve denied myself but I blame you then run
Because one more disappointment heaped on shoulders long ago weary
Makes for a long walk home.
I want to go home.
———
Today is therapy day. I have to do the unmasked thing. No laughing when I don’t really want to. It’s much easier to laugh, less tiring.
Therapy Stuff- Safety Measures
Therapy again tomorrow, oh the joy! Actually, MacBlue was very helpful Tuesday. I was impressed with our session.
I got to talk to a friend today on the phone and kind of unload on her. I always enjoy talking to her. I feel motivated after our conversations. She seems to think I give more than I get but it’s not true. After talking to her I did exactly what I said I was going to do, wash the dog. I have to take him with me tomorrow so he can’t be funky. Nobody likes a funky dog, especially a large funky dog. So that I don’t go escaping out of the cab again I’ll have him attached to my pants. There’s a hook on his harness that I attach a clip to and then clip it to my belt loop. This way I can’t wonder off. He won’t let me. It’s important that he go with me for the next few sessions until I can get myself back to my normal jacked up state of mind. Wednesday’s are usually grooming days around here anyway so everyone got their nails clipped, everyone was brushed and Cap got washed and had his teeth brushed. He even got the royal treatment of aloe vera to soften his coat and keep his skin healthy.
I did some artwork and wrote a poem for it. Now I’m going to bed. I’m not sure when the last time was that I made it to bed before 5am. It won’t be tonight/today.
This is the art piece that goes with the poem.
The Essence of Me
I wish to rise from ruins.
Gather broken pieces,
Shards and shreds long cast off as useless
And create one form worth standing for.
I will rise from rubble
For one great stand
One grand shine.
In my true essence
I wish to rise unscathed by imagery and voices
That encourage the lying down of hope.
Austin
Therapy Stuff- Safety Measures
Thursday, August 23, 2007-4:35AM EST
