Thursday, 28 April 2016

When The Truth Hits Home (April 28, 2016)

Chaos is
When reality
And your dreams
Collide together
In the ugliest manner.

Leaving you
With the unwelcome task
Of removing splinters
From part of your body
You never knew

As you try
To bandage up
Those bleeding wounds
With little success.

The pain is
Just beginning.

As you remove
Your clothes
From the crusting over

Therisa © 2016

Those Awkward Moments (April 28, 2016)

Like a child
She ask questions
Of those
Around her.

Leaves them
Feeling uncomfortable
And totally confused
In the manner
How to respond.

A few simple words
That challenges
Their world view
To the core.

As they wait
For her
To leave.

Feeling safe
To release
Their held breath.

Falling back
Into their comfortable
Daily rut.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Not sure, where this poem originated, but we all know someone, who fits this description of them.

Wednesday, 27 April 2016

Death: The Goddess Of Life And Balance (April 27, 2016)

The subject matter discuss, here, may be uncomfortable, for some people, as it deals with death and the right to end one's life.

For many
She is
Evil incarnate.

Who's name
Is never spoken
Out loud.

In fear of
It'll invoke
Her appearance.

And yet
For people
Like myself
Who suffer chronically.

Or both.


Despite this
We're taught
In the West
Taking our own lives
Is a mortal sin.

Damning us
To Eternal Hell.

The societal stigma
For those
Who suffer
From mental illness.

Never mind
If you're hearing
Suicidal thoughts
Telling you:

"Just do it".

I know
All too well.

My daily fight
To tune them

And yes
I do have
Several plans
Should the need

The mere fact
I have them
Doesn't mean
I am suicidal.

Or that
You'll trigger me
To commit
This very act.

Am seeking someone
Who'll listen
To my needs.

Silence isn't golden
But deadly
For someone
Like myself.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The following links, are part of the opening discussion that Canada is starting to have right now, concerning assisted death and mental health, as the federal parliament begins debate the proposed changes to the legislation that Supreme Court of Canada ruled, was unconstitutional, last year. Sadly, the governing Liberals have removed all references for the mentally ill, to have control over their lives, by allowing us, this option, should we choice to do so.

Tuesday, 26 April 2016

If You Accept This Poem,..... (April 26, 2016)

Am sorry
This poet is
Out of service.

Life's pressures
Had gotten
To her.

Please try
On another day
For an original poem
From her.

Search through
The past writing
For inspiration.

This message
Will repeat itself
For the next 10 minutes
Which time
It will explode.

Thank you
Have a nice day.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: A bit of silliness, as I am struggling, with a very serious medical issue, right now.

Monday, 25 April 2016

First Star, I See, Tonight (Aprill 24, 2016)

Oh love
To look deep
Into your eyes
Is to lose oneself
Within them.

In opening open
Your soul's
Ancient window
To the world.

Passing judgement
On all
And nothing
With a single glance.

As one
Who has survived
Abuse and abandonment
At a young age.

And yet
Beyond the pain
There's an ancient wisdom
For release.

By balancing
Life's yin and yang
As one travels
The light and dark.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Dedicated to Star; my companion, healer and bed hog.

The Thought Was There (April 25, 2016)

You meant well
By dropping off
That food package.

I can't eat
Or use

Due to
My extreme allergy
To caffeine.

You see
The open package
Of ground coffee
Had spilled
In the bag.

Like those
With a ground nut allergy
I won't risk my life
For a moment's pleasure.

How painful
And fatal
Anaphylactic shock
Can be.

A brief inhale
Of the ground coffee
Has my nose burning.

Never mind
My hands and face
A' itching

To scratch them
Until they bleed
Or the itchiness

I detest
The taste of coffee.

As one
Of the most vilest
Invented by man.

Have someone
Give me
A cup of hemlock tea
To drink.

Much faster
Way to end
My life.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Some time, between 10 am and 2 pm, today, someone left a small care package, at my apartment, while I was using one of the library computers. Containing, a box of oatmeal cookies, two boxes of instant potatoes and the aforementioned open package of ground coffee. Due to my anaphylactic reaction, to caffeine and wasp/hornet stings, I carry upon me, 24/7/365, an Epipen, in a pouch, of my backpack. And anything, I think, has a trace of caffeine, gets dumped or traded off, to someone, who can enjoy it.

A Pissed Off Consumer (April 25, 2016)

Before you
Are the words
Of a person
Who has lived
With mental illness
For more than 40 years.

In silent suffering.

Been told
At a young age
To suck it
And deal with it
Like a man.

At what point
Does society
Start to respect
My rights?

For I don't write
In the hope
Of seeking
Your meaningless pity.

An expression
Of my anger
Towards a system
That has failed me
On some many levels.

I am giving up
On it.

A system
Taken to
The butcher block
Too often.

To keep healthcare
Cost down.

As long term programs
Are becoming
Like the Dodo bird.


Being replaced
By short
To medium term

These programs
Have long waiting list
To access them.

As Canada's parliament
Gears up
For its internal debate
On assisted death.

Will my wish
Be granted
Allowing me
Should I want it.

To end
My suffering
In a dignified manner.

Like others
Who are enduring
Long term
Debilitating pain.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Many opponents to this propose legislation, are demanding increase programs, for the mental illness, but haven't put forward, who will pay for these new expenditures, as Health Care, is a provincial area of power, under the Canadian constitution that is funding by, the federal government, through transfer payments. Under the currently proposed legislation, I wouldn't qualify, due to my mental illness, even though, a committee has recommended that mentally ill patients, be included, in the group that can apply for assisted death, from a physician.

Saturday, 23 April 2016

The Journey Taken (April 22, 2016)

Each word written
A reflection
Of my inner struggle
For normalcy.

Every second
Whether or not
I'm witnessing it.

In ways
I never expected

Leaving me
Feeling frustrated
And anxious.

I'm going
In my personal journey.

As if
Finding a fork
In the road
Going in
Three different directions.

Each tine
Slightly different
From its neighbouring path
In the terrain
And experiences

And yet
I need to explore
The one
Which feels
Intuitively right
To me.

In finding
True equilibrium
That means
Lasting peace
For my soul.

Therisa © 2016

The Moral Question (April 23.2016)

Before me
An ethical question
Has arisen
Its ugly head
That needs
To be answered.

As a vegetarian
Who's diet is
Almost vegan.

How do I
Justify the use
Of animal products
In the medicine
I take?

It's over the counter
Or prescribed.

What right
Do I have
To take
Another being's life
For my own?

I ask this
For many products
Are produced
With animal proteins
Without realizing it.

For there
Will come
A time.

I'll have
No choice.

In keeping
My moral principles
And standards.

Take the medication
Or die.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: This poem was sparked, by my researching Insulin, on Thursday  (April 21, 2016), before my April 22nd doctor appointment. I asked my doctor, stating my dietary and moral position, on using animal product produce medication. He told me, almost all current forms of Insulin, are synthetically produced.

The following link, explains, how gelatin is produced:

Friday, 22 April 2016

Avoiding Arrest (April 20, 2016)

A Friday's Reflection (April 22, 2016)

My generation's
Musical icons
Are moving on.

As I awaken
To the news
Of Prince's
Sudden departure.

Finding my mind
Wandering backwards
More than 30 years ago
To the first time
I heard him.

It was
The age of video parties
For school dances
As local music stations
Had their own VJ
As host.

And yes
Neon coloured t-shirts
And sweat shirts
Were the fashion rage
With parachute pants.

A soft sigh
Escapes me
As I think
How naïve and young
I was.

I could change
The world
Around me.

In a profound
And lasting way.

The world
Changed me.

Therisa © 2016

Author's notes: I wrote this, while taking the streetcar, to see my doctor, for an appointment, at 10:30 am. Trying to take my mind off, the thought of having to inject myself, with insulin, tonight, for the first time. Instead, I have wait, until next week, before it begins.

The Bell Tolls (April 19, 2016)

Can feel
My heart racing
At 1000 km/h.

As I wait
To see
The newest members
Of my medical team.

Bad news  waits
When I hand in
The required forms
For my food log.

Feeling like
A condemned prisoner
Who been served
The last dinner
Before the gallows.

Each second
The minute hand moves
Brings me
Ever closer
To my doom.

Three days time
My life is
By insulin shots.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Written, while waiting to see my diabetic nurse and nutritionist, on April 19, 2016.

Thursday, 21 April 2016

Latest Bitter Pill (April 21, 2016)

How do I
Explain this
So you understand.

The depth
I have
With my fear
Of needles.

Instead of
Dismissing it
Out of hand.

As if
Treating me
Like a small child
Who doesn't know

Well aware
Of the dangers
That await me
As this disease

Having lost
Two uncles
And a grandfather.

Ignoring my diabetes
Is to commit
The most aggressive form
Of passive suicide.

On several fronts
By me.

Condemning myself
To this hated
Male bodyshell.
Rather be
Strange fruit
Upon a tree
Than that.

For no surgeon
Will touch
With uncontrollable

Once more
Am strange fruit
To be picked.

In reality
There's no real choice
Between the insulin needle
And death.

Just hope
I can do it
As prescribed.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On Tuesday, during the appointment, with my diabetic nurse, I found out, my latest A1C results. Upon hearing them, I know, during my Friday appointment, with my doctor, he'll be starting me, on insulin. Whether or not, I like it.

Wednesday, 20 April 2016

Rebuilding (April 20, 2016)

They're here
Just waiting
For that magical moment
To unleash their deluge.

Not sure
I want it
To end
Once started.

My tears.

Striping away
The corrupt
And decaying matter
Of my soul.

Feeling like
A diseased creature
One would put down.

A second thought.

Being out-of-sync
With everything
In my body
And life.

This synthetic body
On all levels
With my soul.

If I could
Would tear
Everything apart
And rebuild.

From the soles
Of my feet

In an organic
And holistic manner
That Western thought
Doesn't understand
Or grasp

Balancing out
The yang
And yin
As one.

Therisa © 2016

Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Oops. Did My Hair Hiss? (April 19, 2016)

Pardon me.

My hair is
A royal mess.

My long mane
Flowing off
In all direction
Like Medusa's.

Each strand
Its own mind.

Caring not
What I want.

Of its length
Or the lack of.

Medusa's locks
You'll won't turn
Into stone
By me.

A stylist or two
Has been known
To been cut
By my tresses.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: In the cold midday wind, my hair was flowing, all over the place, as I walked to the subway station, from a nearby library branch, for an appointment, with my new diabetic nurse and nutritionist.

The Immigrants (April 19, 2016)

The stormy Atlantic
They came.

By the thousands
They arrived
In pursuit
Of prosperity.

A brighter tomorrow
For themselves
And children.

Leaving behind
The known troubles
For an unknown future.

Dreams of land
Filled their eyes
And hearts.

Never knowing
Or realizing
The ordeals
That await them.

In building
A continent
From the ground up.

Their blood sweat
And tears.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Many North Americans, can trace their family tree, back to the 19th century, and the flood of European immigrants, lure here, by the promise of land, and a brighter future, from their native country. My Scottish ancestors came to Canada, on these promises, settling in, eastern Ontario and western Quebec.


Wednesday Morning Thoughts (April 24, 2013)

Silence of the soul
From internal fighting.
Universal celebration
Of love.
Not another buzz word
Uttered by the political elite
To mask indifference.
Of one's self
Warts and all.
Binding glue
For all.

Therisa © 2013

Author's note: An earlier poem, I write, about 3 years ago.

Monday, 18 April 2016

Life, At Therisa's (April 18, 2016)

Just great
My talented muse
Has left me
A "Dear Writer" letter
Upon my pillows.

Telling me
She has ran away
With the Sprite
Next door
For parts unknown.

And I
Shouldn't be looking
For her return
Any time

As if
My all seeing
Crystal ball
Is working.

Never mind
One of the cats
Got curious
And knocked it
From it perch
In my bedroom closet.

It got spooked
By seeing
Its reflection
In the ball.

Lucky me
It wasn't
A mirror.

Another seven years
Of bad luck
On top of
My already
Negative karma index.

Last time
We talked
Muse was pissed
About the Sprite
Being "an airhead".

Wanting nothing
To do
With her.

The Sprite dances
An amazing
Mattress mambo.


My writer's block

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: An attempt to break my current writer's block, since last night. And yeah, I know, with an average of 2 poems/day, for April, I should jumping for joy. Call me, greedy. Now, where did I misplace my answering Golem? Should be, somewhere, in this organized Chaos, I call my apartment.

Finally (April 17, 2016)

At last
I saw
My first official sign
Winter is

A wee ladybug
Graces us
With its appearance
On my apartment building's
Back steps.

Never mind
The past two days
Have seen
Double digit highs
With high UV readings.

Walking clothe piles
Are evaporating
Like last week's snow
In this warm weather.

As people emerge
Before the returning God
After six months
Of mourning.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Starting, on April 16 and continuing on, to today, Toronto has seen daily highs, climbing from 14 C, to yesterday's 19 C, and today's high, of 24 C. Looks like, once more, Spring has been skipped, as we head, directly, into Summer, here. Oh joy.

Nazi Redux: North Carolina Style (April 17, 2016)

Distant horizon
Gathering storm clouds
Are forming
With a violent intensity.

One American state
After another
React aggressively
To the growing
Trans menace.

Who threaten
Christian family values
By their very presence
In society.

Let us
Strip them
Of all legal
And human rights.

In the name
Of God
And His Son

To protect
Our children
From their moral corruption.

By banning them
From any position
That interacts
With any child.

At all times
These sub-humans
Must wear
Distinctive clothing
Warning us
Of their gene pollution.

You think
I'm exaggerating
With my lines of verse

How I wish
I was.

I am not.

As North Carolina legislators
Has passed
And enacted
Many of these
Restrictive laws.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: By writing and posting this, am prepared, to receive more than my share of hate, from those people, who think, I'm a lunatic and deserve to be locked up, in a mental institution. It won't be the first, nor last time, I have received hate, aimed at me, by ignorant bigots, who think, the world begins and ends, with their religious belief, making a mockery, of the core tenets of their religion.  

As a student of history, I see too many parallels, to the road that the Nazi's policy that demonized and dehumanized any group, they felt was, sub-human, by their standards. And yes, the LGBT+ community was, one of those groups, targeted, by the Nazi.

The following link explains, some of the blowback, the law has upon, the LGBT+ community, and the reaction to it, by businesses, entertainers and the US federal government:

Saturday, 16 April 2016

Upon The Warpath (April 16, 2016)

Never asked
To become
A rebel.

Forced me.

And genetics.

No matter
How I try
To run away.

Am brought back
Kicking and screaming.

By a society
That systematically
Against those
Who are different.

A fact
I learn
At an early age.

In being failed
By a grade one teacher
For having
Learning disabilities.

The sad fact
Of having to fight
Just to get
The proper treatment
For my various
Mental illnesses.

In a system
Doctor knows best

Never mind
I came out
As a trans-lesbian
To a transphobic parent.

A whole new lesson
What parental love
Really means.

The transphobic nature
Of the various services
One uses
On a daily basis.

From healthcare
Food banks
To homeless shelters.

A constant reminder
Of the war
I must wage
For equality
And compassion.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Inspired, by Sherry Blue Sky's comment, on my poem, No Trannies Allowed. Only wished, my war had ended, before I picked up my weapons, to fight it.

No Trannies Allowed (April 16, 2016)

Is humanity
So shallow?

We need to make
Snap judgements
About a person's  gender
Without knowing them?

A question
I ask you
As a member
Of the cis-world.

From shared experiences
Among the trans-community
There are places
We can't go.

Even though
By-laws and laws
Prohibit this action
To little avail.

As if
Our very presence
Is viewed
By you
As lepers.

By driving away
Any possible consumer
From your establishment
(Yeah right).

Our money
Beyond comprehension
Burning holes
Through your cash registers.

Your transphobic
In its ugliest glory.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The following links are, to articles, about stores/shops, who have openly displayed a transphobic attitude, to possible transgender client:

Personally, I strongly dislike the word, "trannie", as it refers to a trans-person, in paregoric way, and has its roots, in the porn industry. 

Those Final Moments (April 16, 2016)

Empty words
From a hollowed out

Its best before date
For human interaction.

Who has seen
Too much violence
For a lifetime.

Through life
Like a zombie.

Just seeking
That final moment
Of true peace.

Where pain ends
And the flashbacks

Before taking
That final breathe
Of good-bye.

The troubled soul
Has found absolution.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Just something that emerged, as I wrote it.

Friday, 15 April 2016

No Write Way, For Poetry (April 15, 2016)

Thank you
For your suggestions
On improving
My writing style.

Am sure
You meant well
With your comment.

No thanks.

It is
This preaching 
Of poetic orthodoxy
That chased me
Away from poetry
As a student.

So many years

It may surprise you
I don't write
For your reading

A daily exercise
In my battle
With chronic depression
Various anxiety disorders

An intuitive writer
Where the words lay
Has to feel
Just right.

To do so
Is to commit suicide.

I've been fighting
All my life

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: On another site, I had someone suggest, something similar, to improve my readers' appeal (what they thought a free verse poem, should be written as. Never realizing, by doing so, you're destroying, the very essences that makes my poems, unique.

Welcome To Depression (April 15, 2016)

Melancholy thoughts
Are blustering
My mind.

Like the aftermath
Of a large emotional storm
Having swept across
My soulscape.

To switch on
My internal generator
To get on
With the day.

Venus Star
And Squeak
Are crying
In their cat voices.

Having failed
In their attempts
To jump start
My body's motor.

As I sink
Ever lower.

I find myself
A mere handspan
Above the floor
That's marked

My levees
Are strong enough
To withstand
The incoming hurricane
Of tears.

That's coming
In the following days
For me.

As I wish
I could say
It's idle speculation
But history says

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Normally, I suffer depression, on a semi-annually basis, (From late June to August, and November to February), except this year, My Fall/Winter depression doesn't want to leave, as it seems to be making a surge, to regain, what strength it has lost over the past two months. Lucky me, not! Worse, it's interconnected with my struggle to control my diabetes.


Thursday, 14 April 2016

Threads Of Hope And Change? (April 14, 2016)
I wonder
Has anyone done
A serious study
At the effectiveness
Of a ribbon campaign?

One looks
There's 1001 ribbons
Proclaiming their cause
And pleading.

Many of them
Affect my
On a personal level.

Other then
A temporary
"Feel good" sensation
By the wearer
Has anything changed?

Want to say
But reality says

The curse
Of being
A pessimistic-optimist.

Therisa © 2016

Life's Roller Coaster (April 14, 2016)
Can the feel
My energy
Slowly drain
From my soul.

As if
A giant syphon
Was attached.

My emotions
A giant roller coaster ride
Nearly careening
Out of control.

With every curve taken
And hill crested
Can feel the tears
Threaten to unleash
A personal tsunami.

As my emotions
Leave life's track
For parts unknown.

Taking me
Into territory
Not explore

Want off
This Hell ride.

In the faint hope
Of regaining
A fragile sense
Of emotional equilibrium.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Usually, the first sign of appending bout of depression, is having my emotions going sidewards, like this. With bouts of tears, happening, at any time, for any reason. Once, had a doctor make a comment that I was reacting, like a woman does. Meaning, if I was reacting, in a male way, these emotions would be pent up, until they explode, in a toxic way, to my psyche. Thanks, but no thanks. Been there, Seen that, and got the t-shirt, to prove it,

My Route Of Escape (April 14, 2016)

The national capital
And my reprieve
However temporary
It may be
From him.

Short of Windsor
Or a northern Ontario
Community location
Being the furtherest university
From here.

Putting distance
Between a trauma site
And you
Doesn't mean peace.

A fact
I discovered
In the fall of 1990
As I battled
Severe depression.

During the rainiest
October and November
I have lived

More than once
I thought
Of jumping
Into a drained lock
Of Rideau Canal.

That forms
One of Carleton University's

To be dismissed
As homesickness
On my part.

By the university's
Counselling staff
In my first year

Once more
Do I fall
The system's cracks.

Therisa © 2016

Wednesday, 13 April 2016

Doing It, For Myself (April 13, 2016)

Been asked
In the past
Am I transitioning
As a way
Of striking back
At my mom.

A question
I can answer

The greatest weapon
I can hurt her
Is silence
On my part.

In reaction
To the years
Of abuse
By my younger brother.

Another question
That I can answer

My first conscious memory
Of seeing myself
As a girl
More than
Forty-one years ago.

In a bathtub
Covering my chest
In bubble bath bubbles
Like I have breasts.

To mom's.

Never mind
The big differences
In how
I played
With my toys
As a child.

By being gentle
With them
Like they're fragile dolls.

Not the smash
Crash'em way
Of most small boys.

My teenage years
Throughout the house
When alone.

As if
I was wearing
High heels.

Like the models
And actresses do
On TV.

Therisa © 2016

In The Shadows (April 13, 2016)

Tuesday, 12 April 2016

Feeding Time (April 12, 2016)

Once more
I crawl
Into the crypt
To face Him.

I will be
Baring my arm
For Dracula.

My hands are
White knuckling
And my body is
"Fight or flight" mode.

An alcoholic towel
Is wiped
Over an area
Dracula will sink
His tooth

A sharp pain
His feeding
Upon my blood.

Only one tube
And not
The usual 3-4 tubes.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Written on the subway, during the ride home, today.

When Darkness Breeds (April 12, 2016)

I stand
As a witness
To the systemic discrimination
That plagues
Canada's Aboriginal people.

Even though
I want to turn away
As my own dark memories
Come to the forth.

In having
Your very soul
Stripped away
And told:

"You're worthless".

Over and over

To the point
You start believing it
As the light is
Snuffed out.

And hope is
Another 4 letter word
To curse you.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: I wrote this, this morning, on my way, upon the streetcar, to visit the lab, to have my quarterly blood work to check my A1C.

A Pipedream? (April 12, 2016)

As I sit
Before this computer
To type out
This poem.

My mind is
All over.

Into areas
I rather not go
As the tears
Threaten to flow.

Is it
A fantasy
To think?

One day
I'll be free
Of my lifelong depression?

So deep
A cocktail
Of anti-depressants
Had little affect.

Triggering massive
In my body.

How I view myself
And my self-hatred
To my body.

Never mind
The crying bouts
And the hidden tears
I shed
Behind closed doors.

Would settle
For just one day
Of feeling
What everyone else
Takes for granted.


Therisa © 2016


Monday, 11 April 2016

Empty Moccasins (April 11, 2016)
Will not pretend
To understand
What drives you
To seek out death.

The great sorrow
That holds
Your soul
Like a vise grip.
I understand
What it means
To walk down
This road
Of no return.
Having stood upon
Its gravel shoulder.
Too often
Of broken promises
And systemic neglect
From those
Who are response.

Utter despair
Fills the soul
Beyond the point
Of understanding
And caring

Just wanting
The pain
To end.


I do understand
All too well
What has driven you
To reach this point.

For different reasons
You're experiencing
Right now.

The Earth Mother
Take you
In Her loving
And healing embracing.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Sadly, was inspired, by Sherry Blue Sky's post, on another trouble Canadian aboriginal community. Here is, the link, to Sherry's post:

An Overstayed Visit (April 10, 2016)


My poor Muse
A shivering lump
Under my blankets.

In protest
At the unseasonable
Cold weather.

As if
Ole Man Winter
Has lost his glasses
And can't read
His smart phone.

Not realizing
He has overstayed
His visit
By three weeks
And counting.

Just want
That final big snowstorm
Marking his departure.

As I do
My striptease
In removing
My various layers
Of winter clothing
Until next November.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: At the time, of the first pitch, between Toronto Blue Jays, and the Boston Red Sox, the temperature was -3 C (April 10, 2016). A very unseasonably cold April day, for the Toronto area. The predicted temperatures for the following week are suppose to be, more seasonable norms, for this time of the year.

That Guilty Feeling (April 11, 2016)

Not sure
If others can understand
The viscous impact
That violence has
Upon one's life.

Sexually  psychologically
Or physically)

Even now
Many years later.

Find myself
Easily being triggered
By these memories
From my past.

No amount
Of hot water and soap
Or drowning my body
In the bathtub.

Will remove
These mortal stains
From my soul.

I know
These experiences
Aren't my fault.

And yet
I feel responsible
For what happened
During these assaults
Upon me.

In feeling guilty
For them

As if
I had done
Or acted

I would be spared
These traumatic

I know
Nothing can change
Those violent events
From occurring.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note:  On Saturday, April 9, 2016, I began a new blog, which I posted the first letter that I have written, to my younger self, as a 15 year old, about the abuse that would happen me, during that Summer. Must warn anyone that reads this, it's filled with some graphic physical violence, and may act, as a trigger, for some. Sadly, I triggered myself, today. The following is a link, to the first post of the new blog.
Am working on, another letter to myself, which covers the period of my self-discovery and coming out, after years of self-denial. Not sure, when I be able to post it, as it took me, about a month, of writing daily, to do the first letter.

Please, don't thrown off, by the male name that appears in the letter's greeting, as that was my name, my parents gave me, at birth. An Angolized version, of one of my dad's brothers' Dutch name, who died, during an asthma attack, choking on phlegm, in his wife's arms.

Saturday, 9 April 2016

Sweet Smell Of Pioson (April 9, 2016)
A scent of Nature
Much abused
From some poor flower
Used to hide
Our unnatural odour.

Whose cloy smell
Long after
You're gone.

Attacking my senses
Like a released canister
Of a chemical weapon.

As I struggle
To function
Its assault.

Through tearing eyes
Wheezing chest
And taste it
Upon my tongue.

Sad thing is
You don't realizing
That you're poisoning
The very air
We share.

By drowning yourself
In your perfume
That you have spent
A small fortune

Just once
Would love
Have someone
Experience life
Like I do.

Chemically sensitive
To everything.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: It sucks, to be chemically sensitive, to almost everything, that makes up the modern world, we live in. Especially, to those scents and smells, most people consider appealing and desirable. If I could, I would move out to the wilderness, away from the civilization, as we know it. Except, the services that I need, are location, in this big urban centre, we call, Toronto.

What My Muse Wrote (April 9, 2016)

A simple life
Is all
That I ask for.

Able to go
An entire night
With no interruptions
That plagues my sleep. 

The violent memories
That haunt me.

Having to wear
This grinning façade
That hides my tears.

Able to look
At my own body
Without being repulsed
By the image
That greets me.

Not having
The medical need
For the daily cocktail
That I do.

Is this
Asking too much
For myself?

A question
That I can't answer.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Felt this poem, talking to me, urging me, to write it, never knowing, what I was writing out.

Friday, 8 April 2016

A True Warrior Princess (April 8, 2016)
You call me
A fighter
But I know
I'm not.

For a real fighter
Is Christine Jorgensen.

Pioneered a revolution
In the understanding
Of how gender is viewed.

How post-op transwomen are
Treated medically
In our HRT programme.

By being herself
In championing
Trans rights
As her life work.

You must realize
The 1950s and 1960s
Being an open LGBT+ person
Was to blacklist yourself.

The misguided association
With communism
And the "Red" scare
The west.

A fact
Ms Jorgensen discovered
To her horror.

Her wedding licence request
Was rejected
(in 1959).

As her birth certificate
Listed her
As male.

A fight
I don't have
To face.

For I can have
My gender change
On my birth certificate
Without undergoing
The surgeon's scalpel.

And yet
So much
Hate and ignorance
From her time

To be fought
By mine
And future generations
To make Ms Jorgensen's dream
A reality.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For more information, about Ms Jorgensen's life, please click on the following linking:

In Canada, the provinces of Ontario and British Columbia, are the only two provinces, which allows a transperson, to change their gender, on their birth certificate. without having to undergo, any type of surgery that may be viewed, as a form of SRS.


Solitude Standing (April 8, 2016)

In my mind
I hear Suzanne Vega
Singing this song
Without a backing band.

As the few happy
Childhood memories
Are reviewed

Wiping away
The tears
With the back
Of my soaked hand.

My heart longing
For her
To stand
By my side.

In having her
Embracing me
Within her flame lit
Tattooed arms.

Burning away
My inner darkness.

As I hear her
These words
Into my ear:

"Into the fire
My love
Your sorrows
Shall grow
No more.

Shall nourish
Your emerging self
Like a Phoenix reborn
To live and love

For only
In the darkness
Does she comes
To me
In her silhouette.

Am I 
Able to feel

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: My 2600th poems written, since March 30, 2007, when I started writing poetry, for the first time, at my desire, and not, because I had to, for school purposes.

Sigh. Not sure, where this should labelled, as a love poem, or one of a soul's longing, for completion and healing. Maybe, it's both. 

Ms Vega's Solitude Standing was the second CD, that I have ever bought, in 1987. Can remember playing, "Luka" over and over again, as I could relate to the lyrics, she had written, in this song, about child abuse, except my case, it wasn't a parent or a living-in lover, who abused me, physically, but my younger brother. And yes, I cried every time, I see the video, for this song.

Thursday, 7 April 2016

The Beach (April 7, 2016)

There are times
I find myself
Feeling like
A grain of sand.

Someone has
Casted adrift
Into an ocean
Of indifference.

Back and forth
Upon the waves
As they wash ashore.

How one grain
Of sand
Can change
The world.

The beach is covered
In tens of thousands
Individual sand grains
Like me.

Each one
Trying to
Make our mark.

In fighting
The laws of inertia
That prevail.

Blindly stumble
Over each other
Without knowing it.

As the pounding surf
Grinds away
Our resistance
Into fine dust particles
That's blown away
Upon the next zephyr.

Bringing in
The next lot
Of grains
Wanting to
Change the world.

As the cycle
Once more.

Therisa © 2016

Seven (April 7, 2016)

Happy birthday
Venus and Squeak.

I know
Your birth hour is
Between 7 and 8 pm
My loves.

Which happened
On a Sunday
Seven years ago.

I couldn't resisted
This impulse
To kiss you
Happy birthday.

Wouldn't surprised me
If you think
I'm daft
At times.

With my behaviour
And actions.

Your very presence
In my life
Has had
Very profound effects
Upon me.

In a positive way.

For I can say
Without your love
And compassion
Would have killed

The holiday season
Of 2010-11.

The numerous times
That you have helped me
During my PTSD flashbacks
And severe anxiety attacks
By bring there.

So enjoy
This special day
My loves.

I promise
Will serve you
A very special treat
Of Salmon

It'll have to be
From a can
And not
A fresh fillet.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: First met, Venus and Squeak, with their 2 sisters and brother, when they were, a week old, nursing on their mother, Mercury (named after the leader singer, of Queen, Freddy Mercury) and her sister, Rosie. In the following 7 weeks, I could found, around the nursing Mercury and her kittens, sleeping my anxiety away, as the PTSD flashbacks were driving me, insane. They had become my island of sanity, in a torturous world of brutal abusive memories, of my childhood and later on.

Wednesday, 6 April 2016

Between The Line (April 6, 2016)

There are days
I find myself

Someone had told me
About the joys
That would mark
My second time
Through puberty.

The growing pains
My developing breasts
Would give me.

Never mind
The world's perception
Has changed
With each emerging stage
Of my development.

With mixed emotions.

I'm being treated
As a delicate flower
About to lose its petals
In a strong breeze.

And yet
There are times
Am grateful
For these days
By getting assistance
That would never happen
As a male.

Being exposed
To situations
Neither gender understand
For not having
Lived it
Like I have.

The gender divide
Of what it means
To be
A trans-citizen
In the World
Of cis-men and women.

In the barriers
And expectations
Each gender has
For itself
And the other gender.

In their nature.

As I move
Ever close
From one gender
To the other.

Therisa © 2016

Raw (April 6, 2016)

Once more
The taps have
Been turned on
After several years
Of being left
In the "off" position.

As the memories
Swirl around
In my mind.

The overage
Has been spilling
Over the dam's edge
I had erected

To collapse
From external pressure.

As it did
On August 14, 2007
In suffering 
A 26 hour
Panic attack.

After riding
The subway
In the morning
Rush hour.

Feeling a surge
Of those toxic memories
From my childhood
Once more.

Through barriers
Built since then.

As I try
To find relief
In opening
The sluice gate
Under healing guidance.

This pent-up
And unprocessed anger
Needs release.

For real healing
Of body and soul
To occur.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Today (April 6, 2016), I had my first counselling session, with my new therapist. Honestly, I have shared memories, with him, in that I haven't told anyone else, about, since they have happened to me. Specifically, going into the details, how I felt, at the time. The next session is, for April 20th, then the first Wednesday, in May.

Tuesday, 5 April 2016

Rush Hour: Yonge/Bloor Station (April 5, 2016)
Like a silver serpent
It does arrive
At the subway platform
Screeching brakes
And hidden sparks.

Its passengers
Like a raided loot.

From other subway stations
Further down
Or up the line
From here.

Flooding the platforms
Likes a colony
Of disturbed ants
Moving in
All directions
At once.

As they scurry
To make their connection
With another subway
Going north south
East and west.

An electronic chime
Sounds off
Followed by

"Not to rush
To doors
Or hold them

With a swoosh
The Leviathan
Leaves the platform
Packed to the gills
With commuters.

Only thing missing
Are the Tokyo pushers
To cram every single cm
With more passagers
Into the rolling tin can.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: The Yonge/Bloor subway station, is the busiest station of the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) stations. So busy, during off-peak hours, I avoid it, as its large crowds, have triggered panic attacks, for me.

The above photo, is one of the new trains that Bombardier Transportation is suppose to supply, but is several months, behind, it delivery schedule.

To Reboot, Or Not To Reboot? (April 5, 2016)
A weary soul
Does bleed
Upon the screen
Before you.

In seeking
The need energy
To do
Life's little things.

But failing
To generate
A new idea
Or two.

As if
My mind is
In neutral gear.

The world
Moving by me
At warp speed.

And yet
So many thoughts
In my mind.

Crying out
For their release
From the mental prison
That entraps them.

A system reboot
Partial or otherwise
Unlock the prison gates
Freeing these prisoners
Of mine.

I knew
One way
Or another.

To silent
This bedlam
Within my mind.

And for all.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Last night, was a brutal night, sleep-wise, for me. As I struggled to find, that mental sweet spot, for my brain, to shut down, and rest. Stirring awake, at the slightest touch, from the little ones (Venus, Squeak and Star), upon my body. Right now, am struggling to function, in what passes, as a normal manner.

Monday, 4 April 2016

Home Of The Brave, Land Of The Free (April 4, 2016)
A wee baby mouse
You lay
In my outstretched hands.

Never knowing
In the next moment
Your death
Awaits you.

As you yawn
So helplessly
On the shredded blanket
In the steamer trunk.

Among your sisters
And brothers.

Your mother
To be seen
By us

To turn away
As my dad killed you
By spraying poison
Upon your body.

In shame
Invisible tears

By what power
Do we
Have the right
To slaughter those
We view
As vermin.

Haven't we learned
Our lesson
With DDT?

In almost having lost
The majestic Peregrine falcon
From our skies.

As their nests
Once more
Grace Toronto's skyline 
With young.

Beating the odds
Stacked against them
By our folly.

Queen's Park
With their regal flight

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: For more information, on Peregrine Falcons, please click on the following link:

For me, the Peregrine Falcon is the ultimate survivor, in coming back, from near extinction, to repopulate areas that people wouldn't think possible for them. Plus, they keep the pigeon population down, to more manageable levels, without needing to chemical means.


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