Survival Guide

I don’t write poetry simply because it never comes out right. I had a meltdown yesterday over something that could have been laughed at. The stress from a toxic work environment just sent me over the edge. All the after-school plans changed because the kids couldn’t make up their mind so I was scrambling. When I got home to cook a dinner that I originally had no intention of doing was the straw of the camel’s back. I turned on the wrong burner and melted a bag of rice to the burner. I picked it up and rice went everywhere. Normally, that is something I would laugh at but I just couldn’t. I cried and had the breakdown that I needed. This is what anxiety and depression looked like in my house yesterday. This is what a day’s worth of anxiety build brings when in a toxic environment. With everything still on my mind the best I could do was to get it out like this:


She has hearing like a bat,
heard every word.
Skills honed to
better hear the car door.

She can feel the tension,
its felt when walking in the room.
Her body is conditioned
to prepare for assaults.

She worries about your thoughts,
she can tell by the look on faces.
Her mind does this
in preparation for anything to come.

She’s alert to her surroundings,
without looking she knows who’s walking in the room.
Always alert because she
always had to be on guard.

She’s silent without a second thought,
already knows you don’t want to hear her.
Silence ensures lack
of violent encounters.

To you, she seems cold,
refusing to be fake.
To her, it’s about survival and her guide,
years of abusive trial and error.

The Nothings

I had a dream that left me inspired but sad. Not sad but heartbroken. Not heartbroken but empty. This could be due to the current feelings I went to bed with or a situation or the fact that I can feel other people’s emotions. The only problem with this is I can’t let it go.


There’s a darkness that escapes only to feel the light for a second.
This escape is a leak of nothings.
It’s feeling a loss that was never found or buried.
It’s feeling cold in a warm car.
It’s a memory that never happened.
It’s being lonely with someone sleeping next to you.
It’s feeling empty after a meal.
It’s pretending to be happy when all you want to do is cry.
Let the darkness escape to feel the light.
Feel all the nothing feelings.
And when you’ve felt all that you can feel of the nothing,
Seek out the why and give the nothings something to hold and feel.

Protective Barrier

‘Sleeve’ can mean many different things and can even be manipulated to hold a different definition.


Protective Barrier

How can I have my own protective shield?
A barrier that conforms to my need
during different moments?
One that just slips over me?
Sturdy enough to keep me from bending,
from breaking?
It can keep away negative light and
only let in the good.
I can hide in the safety of its darkness only
to be viewed by the most worthy.
Can it include all the warnings with symbols so
people can understand?
I have a sleeve but it’s not as strong as the one requested?
The product may be slightly damaged but still functions.
Is there a way I can upgrade my sleeve?

Mourning Me

A lament is or can be a poem or song expressing grief. The lament is powered by a personal sense of loss. The poetry of lamentation, which arose in oral literature alongside heroic poetry, seems to exist in all languages and poetries. Confession, I can’t write poetry. I don’t know why that is. Even when I was a teen I wasn’t pining over a notebook spilling my thoughts into poems. However, I do miss who I was before things happened in my past.


The sun used to kiss your happiness on the porch swing
and the birds’ song would fill your ears.
Indian summers brought more days to enjoy outside
and more time to offer company to others.

You enjoyed welcoming hugs
and took a handshake as the word and promise.
You helped others without question
because all you had was compassion.

Your laughter was a pleasant sound
and brought smiles to little faces.
Your free spirit made dreams
into a reality.

The isolation took you from sight
and the tears were never seen.
You cried for help but he
made you wear a mask.

Other things I do differently but
I do mourn the loss of me.

Trying My Hand at Poetry – Or Something

This made me anxious (to even fu$&ing attempt to write a poem. I think I failed but gotta start somewhere) but my body is already in that state from the nightmares last night. Yup, they’re back. I don’t think I’ll ever escape them. My daughter told me about this site Story Bird and that it might help me visualize things I want to say or my feelings much more clearly. I’m trying it. I have NEVER wrote a poem a day in my life. Does this even qualify as a damn poem or just a quote? I don’t know.

What do you think? Poem or quote? Any suggestions where I can learn more about poetry?


https://storybird.com/poetry/poem/nzaeysapv9/embed/

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: