I Wish I Could Die!

I wish I could die and not feel all this pain.

I wish I could fly over rocky road shame.

I wish I could never be trampled on again.

I wish I could end it! When will my life end?

I’m helpless, it’s true! It makes me feel blue.

Yellow-bellied, lily-livered, through and through.

My life is a waste. Don’t tell me, “Somehow,

It’s worth it to live and I’ll take a bow.”

My parents don’t love me; they don’t seem to care.

I feel like an orphan or soiled underwear. 

My friends are too busy, or don’t really know why

I avoid them, and tremble; and then, I just sigh.

Others in this world have it better than me.

Some others have it worse - a lot worse, I see.

Perhaps I’m in the middle of the “Yuck-o-Meter” now.

I wonder if I can find my way out of this, somehow.

I've heard it said in the really Good Book:

Sometimes you need to stop, and just take a look

At what’s really around you, and not too far

From the place you are standing, just where you are.

It needs to be okay to be where you are.

You've come a long way, so follow your Star.

I can’t find it! I can’t see! It’s way too dark for me!

Then turn on a light, or follow One closely.

It really doesn't matter; just get on the move

To become unstuck and to find your groove!

My breathing has settled; I’m much calmer, you know.

There was so much pent-up energy, I had to let go!

I thank you, profusely, for letting me vent;

I hope I didn't ding you up, or give you a dent.

Sometimes my emotions and feelings go wild.

It truly wasn't easy for me, as a child.

Sometimes, I get triggered and really confused,

Mixing past hurts and present ones, with similar cues.

For now, I will breathe, and relax for a while,

Sit down, and enjoy a much calmer lifestyle.

And then, I will get up and realize somehow

That I am a bit different; I do not know how.

I’m glad I took time to listen to me.

I’m no longer the same; I’m happier, you see,

‘Cause I've made it past another big hurdle today.

With practice, it will be easier, come what may.

Precious Linda, c. 2014

I slightly edited and revised this poem and posted it here on November 7, 2014.

Phantom Pain

Once.

I was.

There.

Hurt. Bewildered. Terror-filled.

No more. Never again.

My body freezes. Remembering.

My thoughts cannot. Remember.

Tension. Debilitating fear!

My heart beats faster and faster.

Neon lights of fear, flash

ON & off, ON & off, ON

in a body

that

cannot

connect

body

memories

to

my

conscious

brain.

My body remembers the past,

my mind does not,

triggering unconscious fears,

pain, and shame.

Neon lights of fear, flash

ON & off, ON & off, ON.

warning me, telling me

of phantom pain;

throbbing, itching,

painful feelings

of what was once there,

but is no more.

Neon lights of fear, flash

ON & off, ON & off, ON.

Phantom memories

surviving, surface.

Gripping pain

holds on, tightly.

The pain remains,

feelings freeze.

The neon lights of fear, flash

ON & off, ON & off, ON

until others mirror the loss,

my brain gently accepts.

Shame

shifts

burps

puffs

snips,

bursting

heavy,

dark

clouds,

thundering

downpours.

The neon lights begin to flicker

ON & off, On & off, on

OFF.

My body relaxes.

My heart purrs.

I am free, once again,

to be at peace.

Precious Linda, c. 2014

If I told the truth...

If I told the truth...

I'd have to face my fears...

I’d have to accept whatever happened to me as real life, ugly and unbelievable as it was.

I’d have to find a way to accept my past, my parents, and others who hurt me or neglected me.

I’d have to own up to being not quite there… here… in the moment.

I’d have to come to the point of knowing that TRUTH hurts – it damn well hurts and the past cannot be re-written, and yet, in some ways, it can because, it’s over and will never happen again, to me, as it did happen to me, as a child.

If I told the truth, even to myself, I’d need to show compassion to the young parts of me that got stuck in their development and, basically, love and accept them and show tenderness to them. I’d need to forgive the evildoers and those who did wrong to me and harmed me.

If I told the truth, I would need to accept myself as I am, here and now, and do what I need to do to help myself, all of me, grow up in the ways God intended and intends for me.

If I told the truth? No, I will tell the truth and am continuing to tell the truth. I will grow up!!

Precious Linda, c. 2013

This was written last fall, while in a class, "The Lost Art of Personal Writing - Finding Your Voice," with the prompt of: "If I told the truth." 

“Present Moment” - Don’t Keep Your Mouth Shut Tightly!!

I wrote this as a “present moment,” first writing with some writing friends today, in 5 minutes, as a warm-up to additional writing. They thought it was funny and since I usually don’t write humorous pieces, I’ll share this with you, slightly edited.

Deep breath! I made it. If it wasn't planned, I wouldn't have come. For some reason, I’m so tired. Maybe I’m finally learning how to relax my jaw and face… and my body needs time…lots of time… to just be at peace and relax.

I’m not at peace as much as I’d like. Sometimes, I feel tense at home with my husband working at home every day or when I add more to my list of things to do than I cross off.  I rarely have time to myself unless I’m up in the middle of the night, but that backfires for me now… pretty much like burning a candle at both ends.

I didn't know that I’m not supposed to keep my teeth together when my mouth is shut. I thought it kept my teeth growing to the right height, especially if I've had some dental work done. Apparently, it causes stress to my jaw and face muscles such that it hurts when a doctor, dentist or physical therapist pokes it. So, if nobody pokes my face, what’s the big deal?

I guess holding stress in my face isn't a healthy idea. Perhaps that’s why I prefer smiling or talking. It’s less stressful.

Precious Linda, 2013

the self-critic and the judge

snippets of thoughts, playful words

a hodgepodge of intentions

never meeting hands, feet, and brain

at the same time

a clutter of ideas and hopes

churning and simmering

boil over and become

a burnt offering of tasty intentions

swirls of thoughts

like colors on a palette

that never reach canvas                                              

plans, hopes, ideas

great ideas

waiting for a brush stroke,

yearning to burst forth

into radiant strokes of beauty,

deep shades of passion,

contrasting with darker strokes

of fear, loss, and pain

I can’t. I won’t.

I feel overwhelmed,   

trembling with excitement and hope,

mixed with fear.

What if

I make a mistake,

share an inappropriate thought,

get laughed at,

ridiculed, or criticized?

I must write and paint

words and colors deep within,

waiting to burst forth

from within my soul

onto the canvas before me.

Now, I must decide

whether to share this canvas

with you,

with others,

or keep it for my eyes only.

I must choose

to be or not to be

myself

on the canvas of life

with you

or

nothing at all

to you.

Precious Linda, c. 2012