Tuesday, 18 July 2017

PTSD (January 11, 2014)

Silence.
 
The sound
One prays for
When the past is screaming
In an unrelenting blast.

Stirring up
Bitter old memories
Best left behind
But can't.
 
Of times
The body and brain 
Are subjected
To extreme trauma
They weren't designed for.
 
Memories hidden
And tuck away
Behind mental walls.
 
So very flimsy
And yet
Incredibly strong.
 
Until triggered
By something
So innocent
Like a song word
Or a smell.
 
Leaving you trapped
Frozen
In that moment
Of time.
 
Unable to move
Your terror ridden body
Until the moment
Has expired.
 
And reality resumes
Minus the time
Which you have lost
In the past.
 
Leaving a hole
In your consciousness
Never to be
Regained.

Therisa © 2014

Author's note: Another poem, from my poetic morgue.

Sunday, 9 July 2017

The Doll...Part 6 (January 22, 2011)

Stacey had decided
To dress up
For her 13th birthday
Wearing the new dress
Mom had given her
As a birthday present.

Running her hands
Down the side of
The pale blue dress
As they waited
For Jane to exit the car.

Scared
Yet excited
By being in public
For the first time
As a young girl.

Stacey's hands were sweating
From her nervousness
But it was too late
To back out now.

Linking her right arm
Around mom’s left arm
As the three of them
Entered the restaurant
Where they always
Went for birthday celebrations.

Dad was already there
And had been seated
By one of the serving staff.

At first
He didn’t recognize
His youngest child
Stuart/Stacey.

As Jane had taken the time
To show her
How to properly apply make-up
Another gift from mom.

“Jack
Before you get angry
And do something extremely stupid
You need to know
We have two daughters now.”

Mom laid the law
In an icy voice
Brooking no argument
From dad.

“Not in my home
Will I allow my son
To be turned into a silly
By you and Jane!”

He bitterly retorted
Walking out of the restaurant.

“Am sorry
You had to experience this
Stacey”.

Mom placed her arms
Around a sobbing Stacey
Trying to consolidate
Her youngest daughter.

Unknown to Stacey and mom
Jane had brought
A long box
Wrapped
In feminine birthday paper
Into the restaurant.

“Here you go
Sis.”

A huge smile
Was painted
On Jane’s face
Matching Stacey’s.

As she handed Stacey
Her birthday present
One of her porcelain dolls
From her collection.

Knowing full well
The impact her words
And gift
Would have Stacey
And the rest of the family.

But she did not care
As long as Stacey
Was happy.

Being
Who she is:

A young woman
Blossoming
Into her own.

Therisa © 2011

Author's note: The sixth part of six, from a poem taken from my poetic morgue.

The Doll...Part 5 (January 22, 2011)

A quick knock
On Stacey/Stuart’s bedroom door
Was greeted by
A hurried
“Just one moment please”.

“It’s ok Stacey
You do not have hide
Anymore”
Jane told her
Through the closed door.

Slowly
The door open
A half dressed Stacey
Looked out.

Not sure
If she had heard right
From her big sister.

“You heard right Stacey
From me.”

Jane rushed forward
Crushing Stacey
In a fierce hug.

“If it's ok with mom
You can dress up
Anytime you feel the need
To do so.”

Huge beaming smile
Lit up Jane’s face
As she spoke those words.

“But
You can't touch
Any of my dolls
That you so
Want to.”

Reminding Stacey
Of the prohibition against
Touching the dolls.

“But things
Have known
To change around here".

Therisa © 2011

Author's note: The fifth part of six, from a poem taken from my poetic morgue.

Wednesday, 5 July 2017

The Doll...Part 4 (January 22, 2011)

“Mom
What would you do
If you knew someone
And had secretly caught them
In female clothes?"

“Why do you ask
Jane?”

Her interest
Now peaked
By Jane’s question.

Wondering if
This had anything
To do with Stuart.

Which she had know
For years
About his need to express
His feminine side.

“One of the girls
At school
Has a brother
Who she has caught
Doing so.”

"And she does not know
How to tell her parents
So I wondering
If you could help me
And I would give her
Some advice”.

Hearing Jane describing
This dilemma
Her mom smiled
And shook her head.

“Jane
If you mean Stuart
I have known
About this need
To express
Her feminine side.

"Two years ago
She shared this
With me”.

A stunned Jane
Stared at her mom
Not entirely sure
She heard right.

Mom knew about it
And didn't stop him.

“She requested
I call her Stacey
When she is wearing
Feminine clothing”.

Stopping
To see how
Jane was handling this
Before she continued onwards
With Stacey’s future plans
For herself.

“You knew about him”
Jane squeaked
At her mom
As the information
Sunk into her conscience.

“Yes dear”
Again she smiled.

“Why was not I told
About this mom?”

A look of hurt
Spread across Jane’s face.

“Honey
It wasn't my decision
To make.

"Rather
It’s Stacey’s
And she wasn't ready
To share."

“Oh”
Jane said.

“Would Stacey mind
If I let her know
I know now
Too?”

“Let’s go ask Stacey
And see.”

Therisa © 2011

Author's note: The fourth part of six, from a poem taken from my poetic morgue.



The Doll...Part 3 (January 22, 2011)

A month had since
That fateful afternoon
And Jane still did not know
How to handle this situation
With Stuart.

If she went to mom
There would be trouble
For all of them
Should dad find out
About Stuart’s crossdressing.

The divorce
Was painful enough
Without additional pain
For all involved.

For several weeks
Stuart refused
Any contact with dad.

Feeling
He was responsible
For the divorce.

Thus
Punishing himself
As a result.

No matter
What mom and dad
Tried to explain
To him.

Sighing to herself
As she grew
More frustrated
Over how to handle it.

Jane knew
She had to talk
With mom
Regarding this problem
Before dad found out.

But
When would it be
A good time and place
To do so.

This
Jane did not know
And was afraid
To ask.

Should she use
A hypothetical situation
Which she would describe
The dilemma facing her
Concerning Stuart.

Or just go full force
With her information
Letting the chips lay
Wherever
They may lie.

Damn the consequences
To the family
In telling mom
About Stuart’s
Secret crossdressing.

Jane wrestled
With her conscience
Concerning her decision.

As she grew
More withdrawn
And moodier.

Snapping
At everyone
Who disturbed her

Therisa © 2011

Author's note: The third part of six, from a poem taken from my poetic morgue.

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