Category: Poetry

When things happened to me

that should happen to no child

I doubted I would survive

When the sins of my parents

were visited upon their children

I questioned whether I might survive

When I grew older, I somehow learned

to think of myself as a worthwhile person

I thought, I can survive

Faced with the cruelty of not living

in a world of my own making

I decided, I shall survive

I endured the harshest challenges

that I can imagine a life having to offer

As excruciatingly hard as it was, I survived

When life itself, cruel cellular biology

Seemed to conspire against me

Even then I did survive

Even age, that most viscious mistress

tries to slowly grind me into giving up

but I have still survived

My existence has flicked

from thought to precious thought

from spacetime to spacetime

those friends have become

painful fond memories

Suppression…Submission…Denial

Insistence…Duality…Fear

Anger…Confusion…Dissociation

Coalescence of self…

the protecting shell

loses momentum,

ceases skipping,

and begins to sink.

Control…Struggle…Pain

Loss…Crisis…Acknowledgment

Hope…Death…Existence

Birth of identity…

the sinking of the shell

propels up a splash,

a pearl of dew,

which hangs suspended.

Trying…Failing…Crying

Learning…Knowing…Growing

Assimilating…Adapting…Being

Examination of soul…

while gravity stops,

the revealing lens

zooms through the wet,

uncovering layers.

Exhilaration…Disappointment…Loss

Pride…Necessity…Doubt

Honesty…Certainty…Change.

Assertion of gender…

Vibration of ego…

internal bonds break,

the mist that was dew

drifts on the wind,

scattering slowly.

Listening…Traveling…Speaking

Reading…Witnessing…Writing

Relocating…Suffering…Returning

Perusal of purpose…

catching an updraft

the mist attaches

to motes of dust

from other life paths.

Joining…Disclosing…Contributing

Attending…Despairing…Meeting

Enjoying…Loving…Committing

Analysis of life…

shifting perspective

the damp dust

provides fertile ground

for germs of wisdom

. . .

It wouldn’t do

to be stuck

out here alone

in the storm.

She remembered

the days of isolation…

of deprivation…

of loneliness…

those days

when the roof would leak

and the fire wouldn’t

put out enough heat

to warm

even her hands…

those days

when turning

to her neighbors

was not possible

because they universally

detested her difference.

Now they voiced

acceptance of her

and would let her visit

when the storms came.

But they still

didn’t understand

who she was

or what it meant

to be her.

They would open

their doors

during a storm,

but they still

wouldn’t help fix

the damn roof.

I’ve bled before,

just not that color.

It’s the shade

I was missing

in my world.

I’ve bled the sickly yellow of fear

and the desolate blue of sadness,

the empty grey of loneliness

and the worn out brown of long years

of waiting.

I’ve bled the bluish purple of pain

and the emerald green of envy,

the dark scarlet of anger

and the all-consuming black

of depression.

I’ve bled the purplegreengold

sparkles in my vision

as I fell asleep

to dream of a life that

I couldn’t live.

I’ve bled the tarnished silverpink

of a love that I thought

was real but was

an illusion/delusion

and abusive and wrong.

I’ve bled the dusky rainbows

of confusion and turmoil

and the toxic hues

of insanity and dis-ease

and death.

I’ve bled the colors

until they ceased existing

and I would have joined them,

but I finally bled

the blood red of life.

I’ve bled red twice now

and the colors are back,

sharp and crisp

and bright and airy

and joyful.

When they ask

“What are you?”

I say “An individual, one,

And I am whole.”

When I’m asked

“Which are you?”

I know that others decide

that for themselves.

I sing a song of changes

Of remembrance and rebirth

I sing a song of life

Of exploration and growth

I sing a song of gladness

Of discovery and wonder

I sing a song of joy

Of acceptance and peace