Worry

Worry whispers in my head

Of ancient rubs, rank raw and red

Of dizzy dreams that haven’t slept

And promises that won’t be kept

I wander through her murmured tones

So much aware I am alone

So certain I will always be

In Worry’s wretched company

It matters little, wrong or right

Or left within or out of sight

Worry whispers what she will

And anxiously I listen, still

Spirit Walk

How long have you tumbled
Small, smooth, and sand-colored
Turning over and under
While each surge carries you closer to your destiny?

How many lifetimes since you were sun-warmed and dry,
As you passed through fathoms and eons just to end up in my hand?

Ego-drunk and life-blind
I might have stepped right over you
Unseeing

But that which seemed important
Moments ago
Falls behind perspective’s shadow
And inner light shines meaning onto random, toppling stones

Fall From Trust's Tower

Butterfly bestowed

Upon a Shining Scarab

A lovely gift

A deserved gift

A gift I wanted for my own

Jealousy

Deplorable and useless

Brings a stormy dream in which

Butterfly and Shining Scarab

Laugh at me behind my back

With great difficulty

I turn away from the delusion

Spoiled leftovers of the distant past

I come to understand

The issue is only with myself

And I think Now, I can confess

But before that

Shining Scarab
Loved and gentle one

Happened upon my anger

From envy’s nightmare

My wounded child screamed,
Why does Butterfly choose you?

Does she love you more?
Does she see something in you that is lacking in me?
Does she only pretend when she tells me I’m worthy?

I claimed disappointment while knowing I was disappointment

Trust

Hope’s companion

Without it, I existed safely inside my barren cage

So familiar

So empty

I ventured to hold it's extended hand

And let it carry me high

How far I fell

Still, I held hope

That at least Butterfly was spared

But Scarab
Shining Scarab

You told Butterfly all about

My fury

My ugly envy

And my claimed disappointment

And Butterfly, in turn,

unleashed on me

Her own angry child

A torrent of projections

And unrelenting preconceptions

Sending me

Spiraling

Into the abyss once more

A Turning Away

A banging
Why?
Rhythm
WHY?
Pounds out another failure

Turning
Turning away
In a nightmare twirl
Sudden darkness follows blinding light

Far too many didn’ts
Follow a myriad of shoulds
In a broken, twilit landscape

Snippets from outside sources
And snapshots from deep within
Flash striped shutter shadows across our faces

Eyes closed
Unable to see
Hands cover ears
Unable to stop
The
Intrusive
Rhythmic
Pounding

The little one's fists
Are fiery frustration
Her simple request
Floats in a filthy gutter of self-doubt
Surrounded by the marred and ancient walls of unworthiness

I shake my head
Her chin trembles why?

But how can I ever explain it?

I'm tired?
I've had enough?
I don’t want to see!
I don't want to know!
I just don’t fucking care enough because
YOU are just ME and i’m not worth the effort...

Even as a half-remembered promise
Gently pushes the hair from her face
The truth is so harsh
So ugly and cold
Darkness continues to enfold us

Some lives are destined to fail 
Immovable
Breach
And my head shakes again as I turn
Turn away
From arguing echoes ache

Keep trying
I'm not enough
Keep pushing
I've never been enough
No one can do it for you
I'll never be enough

Despising my weakness
I snuggle into a familiar blackness
The cold and dry breast of despair
While the frantic rhythm sounds

My own heartbeat
Pathetic
Becomes a hammer
She just gave up
Pounding home
We always knew she would
The final casket nail

****

This YOU TUBE LINK. The shows a free-spirited little dancer -just s I want to see the little one inside me. 

Invitation

In the girl’s bathroom
With the lock in place
Excitement belies the tragic

Rescued from a puddle
Smudged, stained and streaked
Damaged, but made of magic

In large, round letters
Another girl’s name
Things rarely go as planned

With eyes closed tight
Imagine the right name
Blue on white, in a careful hand

Under the sticky flap
Cartoon princess waves
A glorious pink and white dream

Icon of acceptance
You are invited!
Throat aches a private scream

One more exclamation
I hope you can come!
Inside ricochets Not you!

Shred the envelope
Deep scratches in skin
Reinventing what is true

The evidence gone
Re-pocket the prize
And unlock the bathroom door

While deceitful mirrors
Reflect a standard child
Fears and flaws stand on the tile floor

It's a part of childhood abuse and neglect that often goes unseen, or at least unmentioned. When things are so wrong at home, it's as if there is a mark left on us that everyone can see. We are different. We are separate. We are not accepted by our peers, not included in the normal rights of passage and made to feel even more alone.

The shyness and introverted behavior we exhibit labels us as different. Those we meet sense this and their reaction is to back off, at the least - or to add to the harm with further abuse in the form of teasing, mocking and bullying. In turn, this reaction from others reinforces the notion that the flaw is within us - that we are the ones who were at fault all along.

It isn't true. It was never true. I was not flawed and deserving of abuse, and neither were you. 

Grief

Ever falling,

While memory images project

Onto the dusky walls

Down and down

A desolation so deep it steals my breath

 

Goodbye sister

I was sure you’d never, ever leave me

But remember how you walked away

Down and down

The back steps, and right out of my childhood?

 

Fade now, Father

I release your familiar icon

Arms wide open, lips and eyes cast

Down and down

Away from that which will never be mine

 

Journey’s end calls

What of that often dreamt of escape?

Will flesh, love and lessons be buried

Down and down

Significance covered, all relevance gone?

 

Where is the gain?

I can't acquire anything new to the infinite

What meaning can it possibly have

Down and down

Beyond the lives and loves I understand?

Magic Mirror

Who Am I?

I may tentatively tell you

Who I once was

Where I’ve been

What I’ve done

Who I desperately wanted to be

I have meticulous memories

Of isolated incidents

Complete with emotions

Desires

Accomplishments

Disasters

Every perfect detail of things I didn’t want to know

And those I only wished to be true

I may cautiously present

The ghostly personas possessed by ‘shoulds’

I  thought I ought to be

I’ve desperately tried to be

I know I’ll never be

But I don’t know which

Of the broken pieces of my reality

To keep

To discard

Are completely ingrained

Or were never mine

The illusion

Was nearly perfect

To a casual observer

Or a master denier

Camouflage, untouched

By tears

Or Rage

Or longing

But now see

While a magic mirror illuminates, with sincerity

Inside the façade

Beyond the frozen mask

The world tilts at an impossible angle

And nothing is what it seemed to be

I want to pretend

To lie

To scream, that is not my reflection!

But I only gaze at what is not there

A child’s complexion

Adolescent hair, dark and full

The dimpled knuckles of a toddler

That is what was

But what is

Is Ordinary

Middle-aged

And completely unsure what to hang on to

In this topsy-turvy landscape

I dart through the twisted halls

Of my internal dwelling

Straitening the crooked images

Hanging copies in empty corridors

My purpose in question

My motives askew

My sense of self as tenuous

And fragile as dust

Scattered in the swirling wind

Such Wild Wild

I was cleaning out a closet and found a box on a high shelf that held my past. It's a box that's been moved with me from place to place, without my opening it, for decades. 

On the top were love-letters written by my husband more than 30 years ago, ticket stubs for concerts and amusement parks and campgrounds and baseball games. There were birthday cards from long-gone grandparents and notes passed in school from a best friend who has been missing since 1989.

Near the bottom of the box were drawings and poetry I created when I was very young. There were many - far too many to even read, much less post - but I chose a few to put up here and share. Most of the drawings I chose were self-portraits that I either remembered or could identify by a date on the back. I think all the poems are also self-portraits... but then, maybe poetry always is?

Age 12

I had a velvet day
Forever my day smiled
And then you took my day away
And the whole world became wild
Poor child
Poor child
Living in such wild wild

What strikes me about this self-portrait

- dated from just after my twelfth birthday -

 is the cloth she is holding.

It seems like a small portion of what it could be

when it is compared to the large cloth hanging next to her.

Age 13

Devoured
Like a leafless flower
He reached in for the heart
And took only certain parts
Broken away
He left me only the three selves
And threw out the ones he didn’t like
He forced me to deny three parts
And killed them
Murderer
In the process
Murdered
I’ve been murdered
Piece by piece
Self by self
He’s destroyed three important people that hid in me
And they will never be for anyone to see
I’ve lost myself in this death
And I will never be whole
And alive
Again
And all these things I have him to blame for
But still there is no blame
The part of me that blames is gone
With all the other feelings

When I was fourteen, I had a hard time seeing myself in the mirror. I never looked quite like I expected and often parts seemed to be missing. I remember doing this drawing when I was in a particularly strange state of mind. I really felt that I was a freak and often told people I was from another planet.

I think I believed it.

Age 14

To us all
Two sides must be
And through us all
Dimensions three
We can't be just one self
Although there is one body
There are always at least two consciousnesses
And me and my reflection
We walk around the land
And we see the denied other selves
We see the slower hand
Me and my idealist
My freedom self
And my bound self
We see all of the flat ones walking everywhere
We wonder how they can be
So alone
To all of us there have to be
Two sides and dimensions, three

I was very fond of drawing and painting roads that led nowhere,

 stairs that ended at nothing and empty corners.

Age 15

Leaving Them Behind

Old songs and memories
Playing on the shore
Naked in the sunlight
Diapered on the floor

Now you see the children
Aren’t you anymore
The children naked on the beach
Are on the other side of the door

As you pass the brightest days
The kids you were come through
You remember what you thought of them
And how it was when they were you


Age 15

Cut Deep

The answers are only temporary
And that was me tonight
Temporary solutions cut deep and bleed
Sometimes when I'm alone
Within myself
Without myself
And sometimes I have to cry
Beyond myself
About myself
And when I leave my home
And when I am alone
And when he’s gone to work
And I feel so uncertain
I find a tear that’s falling
And the answer’s still not calling
And I'm lost
So lost
Denied myself
Outside myself
And now I lost the fight
For the answer is only temporary

I remember showing this drawing to a school counselor, in high school. She asked me, doubtfully, if I really thought this is how I looked. I said yes, and wondered why she asked. Then I decided it was probably my lack of skill that was the problem.

I really saw nothing odd about this drawing at all.

Age 16 (? I remember writing this but it isn't dated)

Little Girl

The shouts get louder in the other room
Little girl doesn’t cry
She sits by the window, holding a doll
In one hand
She sits in a daydream, holding off the world
With the other
And no hand left to hold the future.

The shouts climax and finish in a sudden silence.
Little girl doesn’t cry
She lies in her bed, biting her lip
With lies in her head, biding her time
With both hands full of things she can’t use
And her mouth so full with more than she will ever chew

The silence is muffled behind the door
Little girl can’t cry
She waits in the darkness for nothing, for everything
Living less life than she thought she would
Giving less love that it takes to live

The silent world screams obscenities
Little girl doesn’t cry
She stands, awake, smiling sadly to herself
Living only for herself
Giving less of herself every day
Getting less in return than it takes to live
Nothing for nothing is all she can give


Age 16

I came out for a while and looked around
I didn't like what I found.
I’m fading back into the dream again
I’m backing up over the blue-jean den
The cigarettes, the gold corvettes
The thumb-out imitation of the girl
Who is me
Or maybe only wants to be

And I know I must live it
And I know I can’t top it
And I can’t hold it off
And there's no way to stop it
The smoke from the tube
Will fill me
And with any luck at all
It may kill me
But for now,
The change overcomes, overwhelms me
And I am only an illustration of the girl
Who is me
Or maybe doesn't want to be

This one is dated from shortly before my seventeenth birthday.

No doubt about this one... it's a little cracked.

It was one in a series of four, all self-portraits, and all broken in some way.

I never finished the fourth one.

Age 17

The reality appears again
Dragging in with it the cold air
And cold words of February

Hiding in a book
Sneaking a look every so often
Just to keep her head ready
She scurries through her life
Another slice of deprivation
Piled high with the pangs
Of emotion, kept alive
As she strives
To continue through this continuity
To finish this finality
To sever this severity

Sever
Sever
Now there's a word
Like cutting off a leg to save a body
She slices into her limbs and cuts the world from her reality

I began to draw in a more free style by the end of high-school. (It was the '70s, after all)

This self-portrait was one I did my junior year for art class. That was the year I went to the catholic school (where I was sent as a punishment since things weren't going very well in public school.) I only stayed one year - they kind of invited me not to come back.

I remember my teacher was not impressed. She told me this was not a self-portrait. I still disagree.

Age 18

Freedom’s child
Dressed in white
The premonition of birds in flight
Standing in the waters of good and light
Reflecting the day and the starry night

Frightened child
Dressed in black
Demolition and dead birds stacked
In piles of left debris and facts
That lead us from the proper track

Somber child
Dressed in gray
Can’t tell me the time of day
Combined night and starry day
Child of light who’s lead astray

Tell me children
Good and bad
Tell me of the lives you’ve had
Let me feel the brave and sad
Don’t let the sorrow drive you mad
And drop the cloth in which you’re clad

I was very fond of putting hands, cages and eyes in my artwork.

This represents many like it.

Age 19

It's clear, now, that those inside

Must remain and always hide

Nobody wants to know the madness

Horrific fear, horrendous sadness

Close the door, and lock the cage

Keep the world safe from rage

That has no boudaries, never ends

Just smile sweetly and pretend

Until it all begins again

I think I did this one the summer between high-school and college. I'm gauging that by the style, level of skill and also the paper it's drawn on, which is cheap paper my father always had in the house. Once I started at the Art Institute in Chicago, I learned what it was like to draw on decent paper, and I did so whenever I could afford it.

On the back, it says only, "Me".

Beach Fun

Smell the coffee
A last few gurgles as it drips into the pot
Morning music

Pick up shovels, boards, towels
Sunglasses
Do you have the key?

In and out of shade on the boardwalk
See the golfer staring out across the green
A ball dropping

A satisfied smile

Steady breeze
Life seasoned with sea salt
Scorching sand
Merciful shade under a colorful umbrella

The water is close
Powerful waves reaching up to touch towels and take sandals
Or
The beach is vast

The rushing water a background noise to the laughing gulls

Either way
Play
In the sand or in the waves
Or doze over a story that carries you away
But notice, from time to time, exactly where you are

Sand covers you in a gritty layer
And creeps into everything
Determined to tag along for the walk back

Cool AC and colder beer
Eyes closed under the luke-warm shower
Run your hand through your hair
Grateful to be clean and dry

Another perfect day
On Kiawah

My beach chair

Sand Crab Sculpture from a couple days ago

Dolphin Sculptures I made in the sand yesterday

with the help of my daughter and my inner six-year-old

What Lies Beneath

I thought I was only the six of diamonds
It was enough
I thought
When I lived on top of the deck
With everything else safely trapped below

And so I wonder
Why I called upon the cosmic magician
To shuffle the cards?

Poor six of diamonds cannot even know
How far down in the deck she is
What lies beneath corrupts the balance
Between progress and chaos

I thought I’d let it go –
This fear
This screaming panic
The grinning ghosts of sardonic jesters
Pretending joviality
In their circus-colored garb

But now the six of diamonds
Is only one of many
Trapped inside
Surrounded by twos and tens and jacks
How can one lonely six see through the depths?
How can I know the aces and queens
Who have taken over the upper realms?

The frantic feeling
Like magma
Bubbling up
Undercurrents of agitated heat
Jumbled rumbles
Building pressure
Intensifying
The shuffle
The bridge
And I am stuck between a seven and a three

The blindness of ignorance is gone
Oblvion at the top
Was easy
Voices that want to be heard
Faces that hide in the dark
The eights and nines pry open my eyelids
Whisps of their thoughts drift into my soul
Deviously forcing me to know
The one true terror
Which should be denied at all costs

The nightmare
Returned to
When sleep is done...
The actual face of madness is the fear of losing myself

The Uninvited Guest

Why does growth always travel with an uninvited guest?

Identify the obstacle ahead.
Plan exactly how to get over it.
Pick up speed.
Lift both legs up,
Take that flying leap of faith.
Soar above a hurdle so high it has obscured everything beyond.
Land it perfectly!
Turn to check the judges' scorecards and find they have disappeared into the shadows.

Who needs them?
This was not about evaluations!
Reap the rewards of all that hard work!
The road ahead will surely be smooth and paved with joy.

Turn towards the future, ready to celebrate in the sparkle of success!
Feel the smile vanish.
An uninvited guest is shouldering a sobering consignment of issues.
The shadowy shape screams for assistance and the road suddenly narrows, again.

The joy is in the journey?
Those are your words of wisdom?
*sigh*
There certainly can be joy in the journey, but sometimes it’s awfully nice to stand in the gentle waves of a sundrenched beach with a cool drink and nowhere to go.
Just when it seemed safe to get back in the water...

Eyes focus steadily forward on another ominous obelisk.
The silhouette of the looming obstruction blocks out everything else.
It impedes perception of past progress.
It makes it hard to imagine the breathtaking future, seen as a reality only moments before.

It isn’t falling into old habits.
It isn’t that the finished work was worthless.
It isn’t backsliding.
It isn’t failure.
It’s a whole new hurdle, and now it’s time to get back to work.

The uninvited guest... Unwelcome? Not exactly.
This escort... Unwanted? No, that isn't quite right.
Unsought but so well-known is this companion.
Skin, blood and bone are more easily abandoned.

Consider the weight of the load as it shifts to your shoulders
It feels both novel and familiar
Let this unsolicited guest tie the bundle tight
Try to see the ropes that bore into your back as the ribbons of a magnificent gift
And try not to feel discouraged.

Invisible Red Ink

Anticipation

Obligation

Degradation

Resignation

Tension

Anxiety

Distress and

Full out fear

Hold back

They can’t see what is real

I am here

I am real

But invisible

Notice me!

Doesn’t help

Demanding attention

Doesn’t help

Frustration

Resentment

Anger and

Full out rage

Not fair!

What’s the point?

Fuck you!

Doesn’t help

Lashing out

Doesn’t help

Grief

Gloom

Sadness and

Full out heartache

Don’t cry

If they come when you cry

It is meaningless
Tears

Won’t help

And a lump in my throat

Doesn’t help

I am worthy of love!

Don’t beg

I am not invisible!

Don’t want

Anticipation

If they would just push the film aside

They would see the world

For what it really is

They could see me

For what I really am

They would know

What they want and need and

They could step outside of

Obligation

I want them to be with me

Because they want to be with me

I want to be worthy of their attention

I want them to notice me

Even when I am NOT being a bitch

I want them to see me

When I am NOT crying

I want them to spend time with me

Because it makes them happy

I want to be wanted

And seen

For what I really am

They could love me

If they tried

Degredation

Oh I know what you'll say

It isn’t about me

But do you know why?

It can’t be about me

Because I am hidden

Behind a magic red film

And what I want to be

And do

And have

And what I am

Is written in invisible red ink

Resignation

Unseen

Unwanted

Unknown

I am

Even here

Beneath the film of red

I still am

Even if no one knows

I am

~Shen

When I was little, I had a magic book.

I don't know what it was called or even remember what it was about. What I remember is that on the left hand pages there was writing and on the right hand pages were pictures. In between each page, there was a thin, almost transparent sheet of red cellophane.

The magic was that part of each picture was drawn in the same red as the cellophane. When I looked at it through the red film, the red parts were invisible. Then, when I lifted the thin red film, I would be able to see all the red parts of the pictures. The entire picture would suddenly change and I could see it for what it really was, and always, the change was miraculous and wonderful.

Spending time with my family-of-origin, this past weekend, reminded me of that book. I've changed so much, and being with my family is different than it used to be. I look at them and know what they will do, how they will react in every situation. They all know their roles, and I am very aware of what my role is supposed to be, too.

The thing is, I don’t want to play my role, anymore. I am ad-libbing most of the time, now, it seems, but what is really frustrating is that nobody notices! They just run through their lines, like seasoned actors, and look at the world through a flimsy red curtain, and anything that doesn’t belong to the landscape they expect comes out in invisible red ink.

*****

Random Thoughts of a Five Year Old

Putting on a show with my brother
Making up commercials to juke box songs

The key was on top of the door frame, too high for me to reach

If you learn to cross the street you can go to the park by yourself.

Time for school
New pattened leather shoes
Shiny black and pinching
Kids in the school yard
Kindergarten

Go say hello to that little girl
I don’t want to, but I do
I turn around
Mommy's gone

I'm different
I don't know why
The teacher doesn’t like me
The kids don’t, either
I don't like them, back

That damn dog never shuts up.
Piano lessons
Bartok and Mozart

Clean your room!
Empty all the drawers and clean them out

Under the gun

Look at the drawers
Which ones will he check?
Put the socks in the middle drawer
He wouldn't look in there

Don’t go in there.
That’s Daddy’s room.

Whispers in the dark
Something hidden.

You stay out of there.

Wanna come over to my house?
Upstairs to an apartment
Special
Time
Her mommy said it was time to go
Do you know the way?
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes.

Lost



Wandering alone
Scared
Don’t cry

Getting dark
Where is the school?
If I can find the school I can get home.

So many cars
So many people
I don’t know anyone

Mommy's face
Where were you?
I went home with a friend.
Don’t ever do that again

He left the key in the lock.
Shhh
The door is open.
Tiptoe.
What is it?
Is it real?
Don’t touch it!

Socks in the middle drawer
Tuck it in there

Ballet lessons
Cold outside.
Recitals
And then winter is over

Now that I'm five I can go to the park
All by myself
I don't like to be all by myself.

Unsafe
Unfair
Undirected

I heard them running in the attic
Little feet on the ceiling
Ghosts?

Damn racoons.
Keep breaking into the attic.

Little squeals in the dark

Playing with my brother
Pretending the bunk beds were being carried into the night
It was so real when we played pretend
We were orphans
All alone in the wild

And I loved my little brother
But I tried to hurt him
A lot
So many times

Damn racoons.

I pushed him down and told him to ride his tricycle down the stairs
And bit the heads off the little plastic soldiers and left them in the box
And carved HAM in big letters in the banister
And everyone thought it was him because it was the only word he knew

Damn dog!
Spaghetti for dinner
And all my things
Barbies with no clothes
and no heads

I'll take care of the racoons.

Heavy footsteps on the attic stairs, right next to my room
Bang! Bang!
Thud thud
No more little feet on the ceiling
 
Bunk beds and a dresser.
Underwear on the left
and socks in the middle drawer

My brother, only three
He wrote HAM everywhere
From the Seuss book

They will think it was him

Carving in the banister
Nail against the wood
Powerful

Smoking gun

Mommy’s face

Where were you?
I was worried sick
Don’t ever do that again
You'll send me to an early grave

My sister dancing in the kitchen

Walking to the park
Swinging on the gate

Where’s your mommy?
Are you here all by yourself?

Birthday cake
And candles
Blow out the candles

Soundless
Black and white
Old movie
Playing over everything else

Did you make a wish?

Washed out
Blocked out
Hidden

But he didn't get in trouble
They knew it was me
Can’t hide anything, really
Not even in the middle drawer

Reading Between the Lines

(written january 26th 2009)

ALONE
When
LOST
They
BROKEN
Find
ANGRY
Out
EMPTY
What
NEEDY
You’re
STRUGGLING
Really
HOPEFUL
Like
WISHFUL
They
DON’T CRY DON’T CRY
Will
RUSHES
Turn
SAD
Against
AFRAID
You.
WANTING TO REMEMBER
When
AFRAID TO REMEMBER
They
WANTING TO FALL INTO IT
See
WANTING TO FIGHT IT
Who
DESPERATION
You
WAITING
Really
WANTING IT TO BE OVER
Are
GET AWAY
They
RAGE
Won’t
DESPAIR
Like
NO CONTROL
You.
HAVING IT ALL AND IT ISN’T ENOUGH
Never
UNDESERVING
Let
IT’S WRITTEN ALL OVER ME AND EVERYONE CAN SEE
Them
PAIN
See
ANGUISH
Who
SHAKING
You
DON’T CRY DON’T CRY
Really
WHY DO I FIGHT IT
Are.
WASTED TIME
Keep
UNBEARABLE
It
NOT WORTH IT
All
SHAME AND GUILT
Locked
KNOWING WHAT I MISSED
Away
ANGER
Deep
ANGER
Down
ANGER
Inside
HOPELESS HOPEFUL HOPELESS HOPEFUL
Where
RUN AWAY
Nobody
RAPID CYCLING THOUGHTS
Will
RAPID CYCLING EMOTIONS
See.
CIRCLES WITHIN CIRCLES
If
RUSHES
You
TINGLING
Let
BUTTERFLIES INSIDE
Them
SOMETHING ALMOST REMEMBERED
See
FUCKING PISSED
What
BURNING BURNING BURNING
I’ve
EVERYTHING BURNING
Made
HOT COALS AND HOT IRONS
You
BURNING RAGE
Into
RED HOT ANGER
They
HANDS ON MY FACE
Will
STROKING HANDS
Know
HURTING HANDS
What
CAN’T BREATHE
I
FEAR
Know.
ANYTHING TO SURVIVE
If
RUN AWAY
You
GET AWAY
Let
MY BODY CAN’T MOVE BUT HE CAN’T MAKE ME STAY
Them
GONE GONE GONE
In
PAIN
They
FAR AWAY PAIN
Will
MORNING LIGHT
Hurt
ALL A DREAM ALL A DREAM ALL A DREAM
You
NEVER HAPPENED
Like
DON’TCRYDON’TCRYDON’TCRYDON’TCRYDON’TCRY
I
NEVER TELL IT
Do.
NEVER SEE IT
Never
NEVER KNOW IT
Let
NEVER FEEL IT
Them
NEVER EVER FEEL IT
See
RUN
Who
HIDE
You
SMILE
Really
LOOK AWAY
Are.
AND NEVER FEEL ANYTHING AT ALL


Email to my therapist:

Does it ever really go away?

Memory in a Bubble

Memory in a Bubble

by Shen

Memory in a bubble
Kept harmless ever long
If I burst it's fragile film
Can it right all wrongs
if I sing the valid song?

Buried deep there is a verse
A spirit chord and tone
But day by hour we lose the words
And trembling to our bones
We wander all alone.

Snow covered now and frozen
This fragile, tiny globe
Can it still hold the world I sense
With my remaining hope--
This tiny ball of soap?

Relishing the Depths

Relishing the depths
by Shen

What must it be like to look only at the surface of things
and not dive head first into every thought.

On the surface is only your own reflection.
In the depths lies all creation in constant cataclysmic detail.

On the surface you can lift your head and take a breath
instead of drowning in the intricacies of eternity.

Sometimes I envy those people who skip over the water
walking like a savior with their heads up, unknowing.

But in the moments when all the universe seems to come together just for me,
I look up from the bottom through the many faceted images
and I despair for those who will never know.

Pasting on a Smile

Pasting on a Smile

by Shen

She Pastes On the Smile As She Rides
She smiles as she straps herself in
She waves to the people on the side
She sits on the edge of her seat
And the car begins to click up the hill.
It's a high one;
The top is out of view and she has no control, but
She pastes on the smile as she rides

As the train climbs she dares to look back for a moment.
All the other cars are empty;
the seat belts blow in the gathering winds.
She is already so far above the ground.
Something feels wrong;
Like the moment you know a dream is turning dark.
But even now,
She pastes on the smile as she rides

The train gathers speed.
The motion makes it hard to lift her arms.
Gradually she gets her hands to her face.
She feels the smile there but it isn't adhering.
Under her thumb she feels a corner lifting.
It begins to peal off just as she realizes
She is at the top of the hill.
The car comes over the precipice.
It pauses for a moment
The promise of a view of all the world crosses her mind,
but then the descent begins.

Gathering speed, her hands reach forward,
hanging on to the front of the car,
The smile slips out of her hands
It is falling
Has fallen
Will fall
To the ground
She screams
The rush is intense but the tears come too,
Washing over the blankness
Which shows through the missing smile.

Panic! Soon she will be at the bottom.
The train will round a bend
And her car will come into view of all those waiting.
She must fix this blankness!
She can't let them see the truth.
Frantically she begins to build the smile again
Working with both hands with her being with her soul

She remakes the fake, plastic thing
And pastes it over her face just in the last moment
As the train pauses.

She is right where she started again
and, wow, that's good, no one can tell.
No one seems to wonder why
She pastes on the smile as she rides.

Nobody else gets on the train.
She has a moment to wave before the nightmare begins again
She is climbing high into a blackening sky, but still,
She pastes on the smile as she rides.