November 9, 2012

  • Look at my Plate

    LOOK AT MY PLATE

    ©drc 2012

     

    Look at my plate

    full of things I didn’t ask for

    but with which I must deal.

     

    Look at my plate

    dished up with chaos and trauma

    emotion and drama

    Look at my plate

    full of titles preceded by

    “Incurable”

     

    Look at my plate

    full of consequences foisted on me

    and me

    without a choice but to have to live with those consequences

     

    and so much of it was not due to my own choices

    but the choices of others.

     

    I don’t know what to do with this plate.

    It was not my choice

     

    I wanted to serve myself from the buffet of life,

    but someone else served me from their own plate instead

    and now I have to deal with their incurable consequences.

     

    How dared they!

November 11, 2011

  • FRUSTRATION


    photo credit via link

     

    FRUSTRATION

     

    Advancement: hindered

    Beliefs: swayed

    Challenges: crushing

    Dreams: shattered

    Eagerness: non-existent

    Feelings: stifled

    Goals: empty

    Hopes: smothered

    Intuition: uncomfortable

    Justice: denied

    Kindness: scarce

    Love: hiding

    Meaning: inconclusive

    Needs: unmet

    Options: limited

    Passion: squelched

    Quest: ambiguous

    Rest: unlikely

    Spirit: suffocated

    Tensions: rising

    Uncertainties: innumerable

    Validation: insubstantial

    Want: enormous

    eXpenditure: vast

    Yearning: extensive

    Zenith: unattainable

     

    ©drc 2011

     

February 26, 2010

  • BROKEN PIECES


    photo credit via link

    BROKEN PIECES

    Rebellion
    Poor choices
    Immature logic
    Stubborn denial

    All those years of training up her child…
    Were they totally wasted?
    Where did she go wrong?

    Self-incrimination,
    trying to shoulder a blame
    that really is not hers:
    A mother’s heart breaks
    into a million tiny fragments,
    each one a cutting-sharp edge
    of anguish that cannot be assuaged.

    Invisible slivers that cannot be found
    to be removed.

    “I HURT!” she first feels
    and those feelings push outward, distraught.
    “YOU HURT ME!”
    her thoughts direct at her grown child
    and instinctively, she tries to shut off
    the source of the pain.

    But even that hurts
    and feels utterly wrong
    because the source is her child
    whom she deeply loves.

    She cannot shut off her child.
    But surely she cannot remain
    flayed open so vulnerably?

    Guilt …
    Again.

    What does it matter?
    she tells herself,
    feeling utterly at a loss.

    To love
    is to remain vulnerable
    To cut off the source
    stops the debilitating pain

    The choice
    is as difficult as the situation itself.
    The solution
    is as painful as the problem.
    It all feels wrong

    There is no out!

    The shards of brokenness
    seem to fly around
    in a hurricane of turmoil
    constantly stabbing,
    slicing everywhere
    even -especially- where tenderness is exposed.

    The whirlwind slows
    and the pieces fall to the ground

    LOVE!
    I WILL LOVE!

    Tearfully, she kneels
    and gathers the shards of her heart into a pile,
    slivers piercing her hands

    LOVE!
    I WILL LOVE!

    She insists despite the dust
    that gathers with the fragments
    and mixes with the glass
    and the blood.

    LOVE!
    I WILL LOVE!
    Oh God!! 
    I WILL LOVE! I WILL LOVE!

    Her tears fall in painful desperation
    as she tries to piece her heart back together.

    Please..
    I cannot not love!

    I WILL LOVE! I WILL LOVE! I WILL LOVE!

    The blood, the tears, the glass, the dust…

    Her hands cover her face
    and she folds in half,
    crying.

    please God…

    I will love.
    It doesn’t matter how much it hurts.
    I will love.
    No matter what she chooses.
    I will love.
    Regardless of the cost
    I will love.

    I will not interfere
    I will not intervene
    The choices are hers
    The consequences are hers as well.
    I will love.

    I will love.

    Oh God…
    Make it stop!
    I hurt.

    I will love.

    ©drc 2010

February 20, 2010

  • LITTLE GIRL, LOST


    photo credit via link (altered for color)

    LITTLE GIRL, LOST

    In search of independence and identity
    amid the angriest of desires
    to escape what she perceives
    as controlling manipulation,
    she runs from the shelter of safety and love
    into the unknown: wholly unprepared.

    The initial flight for freedom is bliss
    No one can  tell her what to do
    She is free of the expectations of others
    (she believes)
    and yet beneath that soaring sensation
    is a seed of fear, and tremendous pain.

    and those who truly love her
    can now only watch
    and love her from afar.

    Finding she is still loved
    by those whom she escaped
    (because they really do matter,
    even though she’s filled with angst)
    she soars once again,
    believing her choice was so right -
    though she has nothing upon which to stand.

    A honeymoon of independence
    (but it’s not)
    She has escaped from one dependence
    into another…
    and she is dancing as fast as she can
    in an attempt to stay on her feet.

    Slowly,
    much too slowly for those
    who care enough to watch,
    she begins to dance her way into exhaustion.

    You cannot dance forever
    Sometimes you must stand
    and when you do,
    you must stand on your own two feet.

    Little girl, lost…
    Sometimes a step back is a step forward.

    Frustration overwhelms her
    as the world she created in her mind
    does not match the reality
    in which she finds herself.

    She frenetically dances on
    Persistent:
    Intent upon making her wrong
    “No!” she denies. “It wasn’t wrong!”
    into right.
    Still she is adamant that
    the only way out – is through.

    Though those who truly love her
    shake their heads in profound sorrow
    and stand at a distance,
    waiting…
    loving…
    hoping…
    watching…

    Little girl, lost…
    Sometimes a step back is a step forward.

    Seething in tearful agitation,
    she fights with the advice
    she first begs for then shuns,
    because she cannot believe
    anyone else could possibly know
    the truth more than she.

    To give up perceived freedom
    To admit such catastrophic error in judgment
    To accept what she perceives
    as monumental defeat…

    Oh, no.
    Better to create her own truth.
    She insists on making it work.

    With pained, stumbling blindness
    she dances on.

    It’s an admirable, mature vision,
    she believes…
    (as erroneous as it may be):
    to live with the consequences
    of such a hugely mistaken choice,
    (which fact she is not yet willing to concede)
    Though totally abandoning it
    and beginning again
    (she will admit)
    would profoundly simplify her life.

    Little girl, lost…
    Sometimes a step back is a step forward.

    She wishes to make it on her own
    but with no resources of her own
    upon which to rely
    she has landed herself more alone than ever
    in a confused and distorted reality.
    A black hole in which she swears
    if only one thing comes true
    everything else will fall into place
    and all things will aright

    Looking in from an enforced outside perspective
    and able to foresee the outcome of her present hopes
    Those who truly love her
    shake their heads in profound sorrow
    and still stand at a distance,
    waiting…
    loving…
    hoping…
    watching…

    Little girl, lost…
    Sometimes a step back is a step forward.

    She dances with tears in her eyes.
    She trips and falls
    and her feet begin to bleed
    and yet she dances
    defiantly.

    and they wait,
    still loving,
    hurting with her pain,
    for her to reach out.
    Not reach for a handout,
    but to reach out with knowledge,
    and awareness,
    and humility
    to reach out with desperation
    and a profound sincerity
    that will finally make the right choices
    and abandon the fantasies

    and when that moment comes…
    with tears in their eyes
    and all the love they have always held for her,
    the ones who truly love her
    will gather her close,
    lift her gently off her wounded feet
    cocoon her aching heart
    and hold her
    and carry her
    and help her heal
    and grow
    and become healthy

    And when their dancer is truly prepared
    and ready
    to be truly independent
    and strong,
    they will give her the stage
    and watch the performance of a lifetime.

    Reality can be beautiful,
    my little girl, lost…

    and sometimes a step back is a step forward.


    ©drc 2010

January 16, 2010

  • SPECIAL PRECIOUS, LOST

    LostSoulPoem2-edited for cropandcolor
    photo credit via link

     

    SPECIAL PRECIOUS, LOST

     

    I know that frantic emptiness

    that darkness cannot fill

    I know the empty space inside

    when all is calm and still

    and underneath, beneath it all,

    if you seek what is true

    the darkness hides the bruises

    and the filth light brings to view

    Why hide in all the gunk, the stench?

    Why fill that void with bile?

     

    Step toward the light! Clean out the rot!

    Detox may take a while…

    Why let your wounds just fester, scar

    and cause you still more pain?

    What glory find you in it?

    What, from it, do you gain?

    Why deny the beautiful you:

    For something so amiss?

    Why swap out that warm, inner glow

    For a deep and black abyss?

     

    My Special Precious,

    My amazing daughter:

    A delight to my very soul.

    Her loveliness surpassed

    only by her sensitive nature.

    Her laughter and smile

    filling the room with sunshine

    and her caring softening

    even the hardest of hearts.

     

    I love her!! I miss her!!

     

    What happened to my precious girl?

    She drags her beauty through ashes…

    Beneath those ashes is broken glass

    And it won’t leave her without scars.

    Where her laughter once was pure music,

    it is now laced with pure acid,

    but she cannot hear it

    she no longer perceives it

    She has become twisted and sick

     

    She tells me I no longer know her,

    and she is right

    She has chosen to live in a negative reality

    And I barely recognize her anymore.

    She denies that any of that little girl exists

    Her words no longer make sense

     

    Through pain-filled tears, she tells me

    that she is happier than she’s ever been.

    She does not see that it’s a false positive

    She implores me to believe in,

    but her new world is made of coal, and suet

    barbed wire, blood and broken glass

    and within it I observe no joy

     

    ©drc

May 13, 2009

  • Walking Raw

    photo credit via link

     

    Walking Raw

     

    Do you know how painful it is

    to turn oneself back right-side out

    after being inside-out for so long?

     

    Rawness still bleeds

    beneath the scabbed, but unhealed wounds

    from decades past

     

    And the process of cleansing

    before stretching the skin out

     

    taking it off

     

    turning it back right-side out

     

    putting it back on

     

    and closing it up

     

    -Burns!-

    and

    -Stings like Hell!-

    and

    -Makes me want to scream!-

     

    Harder still,

    When there is no anesthesia

    And I am doing the work on myself.

     

    Sometimes,

    my pain threshold reaches the point

    I think I’d rather pass out

    for just a brief moment

              of respite,

                       to breathe.

     

    But every breath comes painfully,

    without any skin on.

     

    ©drc 2009

August 24, 2008

  • Letter Never Sent…

    Dear “you-know-who-you-are-and-you’ll-never-read-this-anyway-because-you-don’t-even-know-it-exists…”

    Okay, I will admit it:
    You may have been the best fuck I ever had…
    but I will never stop reminding myself
    of everything that made me refuse you in the end. 
    Whether I loved the sex or not

    (and I will admit:
    Hell yeah…

    I loved the sex!
    )

    It didn’t make up for the lies,

    the controlling,
    the abuse …
    the fear,
    the loss of my identity,
    the betrayal,
    the abandonment.


    It was probably the hardest thing in the world
    that I did that last time you
    kissed me
    (as if you could make things ‘right’
    that were never ‘right’ to begin with
    and would never be right again.)

    It was probably the hardest thing in the world
    to pretend that you weren’t
    melting me down to my toes. 

    To act as if my heart rate hadn’t just
    jumped through the roof,
    and my insides hadn’t
    turned to mush,

    and that my panties weren’t
    already wet…

    To pretend…
    not to respond…
    to stay “cold” …

    But
    I succeeded!


    I fooled you.


    But I could hardly breathe
    … and I cried
    – desperate,
    gasping
    sobs -
    all the way home


    And now,
    it’s nearly two decades later…

    since that last
    more-memorable-than-you’ll-ever-know
    kiss.


    I haven’t seen you in over 15 years,

    but the memories …
    the years full of memories …
    still make me hot and bothered
    and the present lack
    makes it even more difficult
    not to succumb
    to those memories again.

    On the one hand,
    I HATE YOU
    ,
    (and I don’t say that lightly!)

    On the other hand,
    I loved you so much
    I don’t think it’ll ever stop hurting,
    nor will it ever not be difficult …
    to pretend
    you can’t do
    what you did to me.

    To pretend
    you can’t give me
    so much pleasure I pass out …

    I was hardly a virgin when we met!
    I’d been married and divorced…
    I thought I knew the ropes…

    until you showed me
    what was really out there

    and blew my mind.

    until you explored and discovered
    and listened and cajoled …

    until you teased and aroused
    and heightened every sense I knew
    and brought me some I had never felt
    and led me places I’d never been before…

    and I loved you.

    I loved you,
    and trusted you
    like I had never trusted anyone before.

    and I got pregnant.

    You moved me to another state
    to marry you,
    and life became progressively worse.

    I couldn’t do anything right for you.

    … and then you left me.

    The irony
    that you left me on Thanksgiving Day

    You left me
    because there was no bread and jelly
    on the table
    with Thanksgiving Dinner.

    You just…
    walked out.

    You left me with
    No car
    No job
    Knowing no one

    … and seven months pregnant.

    The furniture was repossessed.
    The landlord came for the rent
    and I didn’t have it.

    You left me with
    No home!

    You left me
    pregnant
    and homeless!

    You stepped on my love.
    You shattered my trust.
    You destroyed me

    You burned me
    and left me to sweep up the ashes.

    Don’t you EVER show up at my door.
    Don’t even get close to my house
    or my family.

    Our child is no longer yours.
    You gave up those rights a decade ago.
    Someone else stepped into your shoes.

    Don’t even THINK about trying to talk to me.
    Don’t even LOOK at me.

    I will do the best pretending
    you have ever seen.
    I will be cold, and hard, and ruthless.
    You won’t break down my defenses
    for anything.

    I will be stuck up and haughty
    and nothing you say
    or do
    will break through

    and then?

    When you are gone? …

    When you are gone,
    I will disintegrate

    and then,
    once again,

    I will sweep up the ashes.

    I hate
    that you still have that control.
       
    © 2008

November 30, 2007

  • ACROSS THE ROOM


    photo credit via link
    edited for color by drc

    ACROSS THE ROOM

    It’s been so long.
    So many years
    we’ve known the attraction
    and felt

    that overwhelming yearning
    welling-up within
    at the very thought of each
    other…

    You know how I feel.
    You know
    that when I am alone
    my mind glides
    over the thought of you…
    and the things we have shared between us.

    I know how you feel.
    I know…

    But you
    have made your
    commitments,
    and so 
    have I.

    And we both know
    No one else can be privy
    to our private longings.

    Oh…
    but that moment.
    I couldn’t help it.

    After so long
    finally in the same room together.

    The greeting…
    the kiss on the cheek…

    All I could do 
    when my
    cheek finally touched yours
    was breathe
    a barely-audible

    “Oh my god…”

    because the electricity I felt between us
    was enough to melt
    even the
    staunchest of reserve.

    I couldn’t breathe
    I desperately
    didn’t want to move away.

    I wanted to stay there
    my cheek pressed to yours,
    and whisper all those
    things in your ear…
    to change that innocuous kiss hello
    into a caress
    of your chin
    with my lips,
    which would inevitably lead
    my lips to
    yours…

    That tiny moment of contact
    overwhelmed me
    with thoughts
    of all the
    urgent intimacies…

    all the
    breathless moments of passion
    we both know…

    and we both knew
    that at that very moment
    we were dying to share them.

    But protocol made me step back
    and maintain a semblance of

    nothing unusual

    and I hoped my cheeks
    weren’t flaming

    and that my heartbeat
    wasn’t as audible
    to everyone else
    as it was

    to me.

    I moved away
    across the room

    and I pretended
    - that my every nerve
    wasn’t alive to your
    movements…
    - that my ears
    weren’t attuned to the nuances of your
    voice
    even if I couldn’t hear your words from the distance…
    - that my
    eyes
    weren’t following you in my peripheral vision…

    - that I wasn’t aware of where you were
    at every moment.

    So much time
    so close
    trying to hold up
    that invisible wall…

    I had to step outside
    just to gather myself together.

    I leaned over the stone porch railing,
    closed my eyes,
    and deeply breathed the cool, night air.

    but when I stood up
    you were there
    right behind me

    and I felt myself melting

    I didn’t know if I could handle
    another
    encounter that close,
    and you heard me
    audibly, quietly
    whimper

    trying to hold myself together.

    I knew it was you.
    every inch of your warmth
    insanely aroused
    every
    part of me

    but I couldn’t turn.

    One look into your eyes
    and
    I knew I would get lost.

    I knew this.
    You knew this.

    Your hands,
    lightly resting on my hips
    I could sense were
    itching
    to hold me tighter
    to turn me around
    to run over every inch of me
    but

    They were staying where they were
    writing a symphony on me,
    and in
    me,
    instead.

    My mind was caught
    between

    “Not here! Someone will see!”
         and
    “Please! Don’t ever let
    go!”

    “Turn around,”
    you said hoarsely into my hair,
    with your hands on my
    waist
    making me crazy.

    My head leaned back
    and I gasped with need.

    Needing you.
    Oh my god
    Needing you more than I thought possible.

    “I can’t,” I choked.
    “If I do, I won’t let go”

    and it was your turn to
    groan in hunger.

    I felt your fingers
    tighten their grip on my waist,
    and then release
    me,

    and your absence
    made me weep.

    So much time
    so close
    trying to hold up
    that invisible wall…

    I made myself look out
    over the lake,
    into the mountains in the
    distance,
    reflecting the bright moonlight

    and then I hung my head,
    and felt the tears fall silently
    for what I had to give up.

    But protocol made me step back
    and maintain a semblance of

    nothing unusual

    When I returned inside
    you were gone
    and I could not bring myself to
    stay.

    Without you
    it had all turned to gray.

    ©drc 2007

March 22, 2007


  • photo credit via link


    WHOLLY

    So easy to get caught up
    So easy to let go
    of the connection to the emotional
     So easy to concentrate
    on slaking the consuming hunger
    and letting everything else
    get set aside
    and ignored
    in order to reach that apex
    to feel that physical overflow within,
    shooting into a thousand tingling, sparkling glitters

    So easy to make yourself forget
    that there is so much more…

    Then
    to be reminded
    and to be shown
    intimately
    that what you mentally try to cut off
    what you try to ignore about yourself
    and what you try to throw away

    actually shouldn’t be discarded

    because you are wholly cherished
    and completely hungered after
    and all of you is believed to be
    totally beautiful.

    Who, me?
    You ask…

    And the nodded reply
    unexpectedly reveals that

    All that sex
    was really
    all that love

    and you find yourself
    humbled …
    melted into a sodden
    puddle of tears

    of confused disbelief
    and
    uncomprehending awe.

    Wholly Loved.

    © drc 2007 

January 7, 2007


  • photo credit ©drc 2007

    BOAT

    “Boat, mommy!” he said, pointing
    as it bobbed around the tub
    He emptied it, sank it again,
    and, laughing, said, “Blub-blub!”

    “Can we go to the ship, mommy?”
    my young son said to me,
    “Take me to the park,
    to play a pirate lost at sea!”

    “Hey, mom, I’m taking out the boat”
    my son told me one day
    “I’ll catch a lot of fish
    and fry us each a great filet!”

    “Drive me to the dock?” he asked.
    He’d grown up all too soon
    “I got my orders – overseas.
    It’s not like it’s the moon!”

    I took my son’s face in my hands,
    he looked me in the eye
    then choking back my tears of pride
    I straightened up his tie.

       A mother’s love, I’ve realized,
       is melancholy-lined:
       I’ll always hear the echoes of
       “Boat, mommy!” in my mind.

    © drc 2007

    (really glad my son is still just 2-1/2 years old!!)