Thursday, 20 April 2017

Random Thoughts (November 28, 2011)


Calm before
The storm.

A measureless

Brief interruption
In a meaningless

From reality.

Method of delivery
For legal toxins
Into the body.

Another gateway
For life.

Therisa © 2011

Author's note: Another blast from my poetic morgue.

Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Gathering Of The Clan (April 19, 2017)

Don't know
When life changed
For me.

As the holidays
A chore to endure
And not enjoy.

Of the fights
Both physical
And verbal.

I lost
With my dad
Via a spanking.

In visiting
Oma and opa
For the high holiday feasts
At their small rural bungalow
In Dunneville, Ontario.

To the gills
With dad's family
Far and wide.

Only a scream away
From shattering
As children run around
Bubbling with excitement.

Seeking refuge
Wherever possible
In my constant companion
A book.

Unable to explain
Why I felt
So uncomfortable
With my extended family.

Not yet
Did I have
The proper words
To do so.

Only now
Do I know
It was anxiety
I was experiencing.

In my family
You only missed 
These gatherings.

If you were 
Physically sick
Lived out of province
Or dead.

To my dad
I was
None of the above.

A spoiled brat
Acting out.

Further hiding
My true emotions.

As I suffered
In silence
By avoiding
Any future punishment.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: I think, but not sure, I was 12 years old, when I started acting out. Can remember, I hate my dad, during this time, wanting nothing to do, with the family gatherings. Especially, the religious overtones of these days, I have never felt comfortable with, given the conservative nature, of some of my family members. 

For the record, I do not consider myself, a Christian, although I was baptized, as an infant. To be a Christian, I have to accept, that Jesus is, the Son of God, and not a mere mortal, who was killed for political reasons, by the ruling elite, in Judea, for challenging their religious and social hold, over Jewish society, back then.

Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Winkte* (April 18, 2017)

Both feet
Firmly anchored
In the gender divide
Expressing ourselves
Who we are.

To some
We're seen
As an abomination
Or worse.

To be destroyed
With extreme prejudice
No question asked.

Like the national 
Past time
Of (ice) hockey
Or lacrosse.

The very facts
Before them.

We're human

Only wanting
To live our lives
In peace
As women.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: *Winkte (also spelled wíŋtke) is the contraction of an old Lakota word, Winyanktehca, meaning "wants to be like a woman." Winkte is a social category in Lakota culture, of male-bodied people who adopt the clothing, work, and mannerisms that Lakota culture usually considered feminine. (http;//

Although my ethnic heritage is, of European descent, I find myself, identifying with Canada's First Nations, and their struggle to claim their culture and heritage, which has been brutally stripped away, over the past 500 + years. Especially, with the reemergence of "Two Spirit", within their culture and society, as a whole, as part of the healing process, in ending the genocide, waged against them, by the "Crown" and other agents, for the government and people of Canada.

As we walk, our journey of healing, together, as one people.  Brothers and sisters, learning to love ourselves, once more.

A Fool's Dream? (April 17, 2017)

Am I

I can never be
A woman.

By genetics.

How many times
A surgeon's scalpel
May be used.

Hormones taken
And suppressed.

One can't create
A silk purse
Out of a sow's ear.

And yet
I try.

This fantasy
Becomes reality.

One day.

Therisa © 2017

Friday, 14 April 2017

One Size Fits All (April 14, 2017)

You don't see me
As I struggle.

Against the stream
I must follow
Like a spawning Salmon
For my education.
Trying to fit
My square peg
Into your circular hole
Without destroying

The nightly tears
Of frustration
And anger.

Of a blank page
Before me
To be marked
With red ink.

Your snide comments
Calling me:

Needs to apply
Their self
To the task
At hand."

Working harder
Then the other students
To finish 
The assigned work.

Feeling betrayed
At the year end
Report card.

Bitter tears flowing
Upon seeing
For having
A learning disability.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: In June 1977, my grade one teacher failed me, as a result of my various learning disabilities. Along with, 6 other students, in my class. Needless to say, her contract wasn't renewed, for the following year, by the local school board. Throughout my academic career, I have been, in and out, of special educational classes, due to various reasons (learning disabilities to the gifted program).

In Ontario, under provincial law, a school (whether, at the elementary or secondary level) can reject a transferring student's request for support, although, they have documented evidence when transferring, within the same school board. Regardless, of the fact, the learning assessment, was paid for, by the taxpayers of that same board. Never mind, if they are coming, from another school board. 

Thursday, 13 April 2017

The Poison Game (April 13, 2017)

I know
Within my mind
I'm not responsible
For the abuse/bullying
I have experienced.

And yet
There's a part
That does.

Being pulled
In so many 
Different directions
I don't understand.

As various layers
of guilt
Built up
Around my soul
Is slowly
Stripped away.

Holding back
The tears
In my ducts

Can't help
But think
How things 
Could've been different.

If I was born
Instead of trans.

A question
I'll never have
An answer for.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Sigh. For the past month, or so, I have been dealing, with a renewal bout of my depression. In that, I have been isolating myself, to the point of becoming agoraphobic, again. In real life, and on the Internet, Struggling, in finding ways, to express this darkening of my soul, in a positive way, that would prevent me, from falling into the trap of self-pitying myself. Having done enough of that, over the years.

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Refuge (April 12, 2017)

Release from reality
Escaping abuse/bullying
Finding new heroes
Unlocking the past
Growing as a person
Emitting light from darkness.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: It started with The Hardy Boys, and grew from there, my love affair with books and the printed word. Many, a night, were lost to a book, as I had to finish it, before, being able to turn off the lights and let sleep claim me. 

Sunday, 9 April 2017

Cracking Of Eggshells (April 9, 2017)

The black ink
Lays on the page
Like dried blood
Before me.

Clotting up
A long opened wound
From long suppressed

Within my soul
A consuming fire burn
So bright
To devour me
With an angry rage.

Like a tsunami
To drown my soul.

The sluice gates
Open up
From the levee.

Blowing across
My soulscape
Winds of self-condemnation
Telling me

A so tired
Of this constant struggle
Just want to rest
And let the pain go.


Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Been having a very rough period, for the past 3 days, with very negative emotions and very low self-worth, as I have been isolating myself, from the world, real time and cyber-wise. I know, isolating myself, is wrong, but I don't feel strong enough, to walk, outside of my apartment, right now.

Friday, 7 April 2017

Reclaiming My Soul (April 6, 2017)


A five letter word
Am struggling
To come to terms

In feeling
The bottled anger
Thrusting up
Against my self-imposed
Mental barriers
For most of my life.

Blaming myself
For the abuse/bullying
In not being
Good enough
To protect me.

As the physical
And verbal blows
Rain down
On my body
And soul.

Those negative words
Within my inner critic's voice
Attacking myself
Years later.

As I battle
And low self-esteem
In isolating myself
From others.

Even now
It's a struggle
I fight
On a daily basis.

It's one of my pillars
Of my soulscape
I have to rebuild
For true healing
And inner peace.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: For more years, than I can remember, I have been struggling, to find that balance, which will give me, true inner peace. Having hit such depths, that I have spent the better part of 3 years, constantly suicidal, as a teenager, without telling anyone of my struggle, during my last years of high school, until decades, afterward.  Even now, on a daily basis, I have suicidal thoughts, in my mind, depending on the severity of my depression, are mostly static background noise, I am able to ignore. And yes, my medical team, is aware of this, as I have shared this, with them. It's one of the questions, I get asked, whenever, I see my nurse practitioner. Along with, how do I rate my level of depression, on a scale of 0-10, 0 being depression free, and 10: having attempted to commit suicide. 

For I have never reached true equilibrium, that balance point, between being manic and depressed, in my life. Even during the time that I was taking a cocktail of several anti-depressants, and suffering in silence, as my body rebelled against them, with constant side effects, which made my life, a constant living Hell. Ranging from constant migraine headaches, from two different drugs to bloating, gaseous and severe cramping, from another drug (only thing missing from my constant period, was the blood on my panty). Worse, several of these medications used a form of sugar, as their delivery vehicle, into the body. Part of the reason, why many people with depression, have a higher than normal rate of type II diabetes.

Wednesday, 5 April 2017

The Cruelest Month (April 5, 2017)

Barren scarred landscape
Coming out of mourning
As the long white overcoats
Are shrugged off
For another year.

The mating rituals
Of songbirds
Fill the air
Once more
From their winter siesta
In the Gulf of Mexico.

Brave little shoots
Fight their way
To the surface
Through the frozen soil
The warming Sun.

Once more
Life has return
With the sound of bees
And other insects
After a long winter

And yet
Humanity has found
Another brutal way
To turn back
The clocks.

As if
The centennial of Vimy Ridge
And other slaughter grounds
Of the First World War
Aren't enough.

Need to add 
Khan Sheikhoun, Syria
And other communities 
To the growing list
Of chemical warfare

April is cruel.

Therisa © 2017

April (April 5, 2017)

All day showers
Puddles everywhere
Rivers flooding
Itching to sow seeds
Lilacs blossoming.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Spring doesn't unofficially arrive, until the last snowstorm, in April, despite, what the calendar says, on my bedroom wall. One of the quirks, of living in a northern hemisphere country, like Canada. Then, if we're lucky, Spring lasts about 3 weeks, before the hot and humid weather of summer, overtakes my region of southern Ontario. Sadly, we must wait until mid-May, before it's safe to plant our gardens, due to the possibility of having overnight frost, killing young plants.

Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Palette Of Abuse (April 4, 2017)

The blackest of night
I hide away
In my apartment
Spilling red ink
Upon white parchment.

Those golden days 
Of Summer
Where shame burns
With blue and white flames.

Seeking relief
From the fading
Orche and purple (coloured) bruises
As a blue streak
Erupts from your mouth.

Shattering my rose glasses
With your gray innocence
Before my body browns out
From the pain
And exhaustion.

These toxic flashbacks
Are pale echoes
Of a faraway time
And place.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: A writing exercise, which I am using 3 different colours, for each stanza, without repeating any colour, previously used. Leaving the last stanza, without any reference to any colour.

Monday, 3 April 2017

Ramblings, On An April Monday Night (April 3, 2017)

A sense of sadness
Fills me.

As doom and gloom
The daily news.

Over the Internet
Or Television.

Are we
The smartest creatures
On this planet?

We kill ourselves
Without a second thought
About the consequences
We'll  have to face

As if
Each new death 
Is nothing more
A hollow reminder
Of what we have lost
In our souls.

In our mechanic climb
Towards the heavens
And above.

In reality
It's our organic descent
Into the bellows
Of Hell.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Just some thoughts, going through my mind, tonight, after reading about the St Petersburg's bombing, on its subway system, this morning. 

Hair! Hair! (April 3, 2017)

A frustrated sigh
Escapes my lips.

Looking at
The reflected image
Of my hair
In the mirror.

Women will/have
Spend a fortune
For wavy hair
Like mine.

I look at my hair
And cringe.

Of my hair's length
It has
A mind of its own.

Have tried
The punk look
With the Mohawk
As a teenager.

With various 
New Wave/Goth styles
As I finished up
High school.

Still shudder
At my failed experiment
Of getting a perm.

Shave my head
Like Sinead O'Connor 
When she exploded 
Onto the music scene.

All of my scars
Will be exposed
That I hide
Under this mop.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: Right now, my hair reaches, about the midway point of my shoulder blades, when straightened out. The last time, a pair of scissors was taken to it, was about 4  years ago, to cut out split and dead ends. Something, I need to do, again. 


Sunday, 2 April 2017

Coming Full Circle (April 2, 2017)

Star's big soulful eyes
Penetrating deep
Into my soul.

Into the farthest corner
With a single glance.

As if
Weighing my soul
Like Ma'at does
With Her feather
Come Judgment Day.

She lays
Upon my lap

Her loud deep purr
My entire body.

Like a tuning fork
Being struck

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: For the past month, or so, Star has discovered the joys of resting upon my lap, as I use my laptop, to cruise the Internet. Prior to this, she would rest upon my lap, after a bath, ahs I sat, on the edge of the tub, gently petting her, until I had to move. A far cry, from November 2011, when I had to lay a trail of kibble, to get Star, out from underneath the toilet cistern, as she was shaking with fear, on her first night, with Squeak, Venus and I. 

Saturday, 1 April 2017

Ace Of Wands (April 1, 2017)

You don't 
Have to say it
But your body does.

A fool's journey
That'll all disappear
Like the latest fad
Some time
Next week.

I know

A sad smile
Graces my face.

You'll never understand
The forces pushing me
In this direction.

This need 
For healing
That society says.

On one hand
Is wrong.

And yet
Encourages me
To move forward
On this sojourn
Of mine.

Having spent
Several months
In the Valley of Death
Walking my way out
Over the past decade.

Coming to terms
With who I am
As a person.

And what 
I have experienced
During my life
Violence and all.

I have 
Only left 
The harbour
On this voyage
Of self-discovery.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: The unidentified person, whom I am talking to, in this poem, is my mom. Since, I accidently "outed" myself, to her, on July 1, 2006 (Canada Day), whenever I around her, I can see the fear and confusion, in her eyes, despite her protesting, otherwise. For a variety of reasons, I had to break off, all relation with her, in November 2013, for my mental and physical health. 

Interesting, as Therisa, I am more aggressive, in fighting for the things that I need, then I would be if I was T_____. I know T_____ would not have the confidence to write these personal extrovert poems, about the abusive past, the steps taken, in the healing process, or speaking out, on the injustices in the world, around me. 

A Cosmic April Fool's Joke Punchline (April 1, 2017)

The following poem contains very dark subject matter, like enduring extreme child abuse/bullying, PTSD, depression and suicide, itself. 

"I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God's got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find Him laughing."

Depeche Mode, "Blasphemous Rumours", Some Great Reward (1984)

Sitting on
The edge of the tub
A razor blade
In my hand.

The tears rolling
Down my cheeks
As I look back
At my life.

Just wanting
The pain to end
Of the personal cost.

What I did do
To become
The punchline
Of this cosmic joke.

I call
My life.

As the abuse
And bullying
In my mind's eye.

Red tears 
Flow from my wrists
Onto the bathroom floor.

Nothing is left
In my body.

Therisa © 2017

Author's note: I know, there some people will read this poem, and think, it's a cry for help, on my part. Truth is, I have been battling PTSD, for most of my life, after electrocuting myself, in November 1974, while trying to separate an extension cord, from a port space heater, in the basement of the home, we're living in, at the time, as a child. Have been told, on numerous occasions, I was lucky to have survived the electrical burn, to my mouth. I have endured 4 different operations, upon my mouth, over the years, leaving a facial faint scar, upon my right side of my mouth.

The following year, I started kindergarten, and the abuse/bullying started then, there. Only stopping, in September 1987, when I transferred to another high school, for my final 3 years, before starting university, in September 1990.

This doesn't include, the abuse, I suffered, at the hands, feet, and mouth, of my younger brother, over the years, until August 2007, I stood up to him, and told him; "you're dead to me, the next time, I see you, you'll be 6 feet under." Since then, I haven't seen or heard from him. 

Today's date is April 1st, a time, people allowed to play practical jokes, on each other, until noontime. And yes, there are time, which I feel like, I am, the punchline, to some cosmic joke, 

And no, I am not planning on ending my life, right now. Just that, at times, I feel this need to write out the darkness, I contain, within me. Guess, you could it, a safety valve release. 

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