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.

Happy Birthday Daddy

Today is my father’s birthday. As I get older I now understand how important it was to him for us to just be there. We didn’t have to bring gifts of cake but our presence was what he wanted. It’s what I now want with the kids getting older and having their own lives and things to do. I’m learning to let a lot go and understand that they have to grow even if it means away from me. Tonight I thought we would all go out to dinner for my dad’s birthday and then over the weekend, I’ll work on finding a Scottish or Swedish dessert recipe to take place of his birthday cake, or even better a Scottish cake. If any of my readers have a recipe of Scottish or Swedish origins to share it would be greatly appreciated.

I thought I would try my hand at poetry again but this time kind of honoring my father and my quest to understand what he unknowingly passed down to me.


I Lost Something

I lost something I’ve never known.
Obsolete and unsure,
without the guidance from a living cornerstone.
Often wondering if I belong or even where,
Identifying with no one and solitaire.

I lost something I’ve never known.
Is it there and can it be shown?
Do I ask to learn?
Is this my concern?

I lost something I’ve never known
but promise an oath to learn of seeds sown.
How do I prepare?
I’ll start with some cookware.

Practicing Poetry: Vague

I’ve been worrying and working so much on my A to Z blogging challenge I haven’t done much of anything else. The emails and awards I’m hoping to catch up on this weekend. I cannot write Haikus to save my life but here goes nothing and yes, I survived this. These are in response to Discover’s Prompt for the day. Oh, but I came across a tool that I’m sure a lot of my poetry posters know of but for the ones that don’t check out this link. It was super fun to work with and helped me so much. I was amazed at how many times I had to edit and reword lines. And since I’m a glutton for punishment and couldn’t help myself I decided to write an Acrostic poem. I had no idea what in the hell that was until I looked it up. I did those in elementary school!


Love’s Confession

Obscure by default,
I’ll confess in my own time.
Love isn’t vague just protected.

 

 

 

 


Why so Vague?

Being obtuse is at times, my safe haVen
Shyness is one of my Absolute rules.
My heart decides when a person Gains insight of me.
Genuine Understanding is what I need, not want.
I’m learning not to pardon my Emotions.


Jo/© thecreativeptsdgal.wordpress.com

Please Don’t

Please don’t look at me,
I only want to walk into the store.

Please don’t watch me,
I only want to get what my family needs.

Please don’t talk to me,
I will stumble over my words trying to reply.

Please don’t stand to close,
I feel uncomfortable and want to run.

Please don’t make eye contact,
I feel obligated to look away.

Please don’t snicker,
I tried to say my coffee order that I rehearsed.

Please don’t shake your head,
I only want to order something to eat.

Please don’t acknowledge me,
I only want to be invisible.


I wanted to attempt a poem for the Daily Post Prompt: Invisible that captures some of my social anxieties. I remember a time when I was a social butterfly and then I was isolated. Now I’m left with the aftermath of my CPTSD. Some days are harder than others.

Surrender

Sometimes I feel like it has been stolen,
That I cannot grasp what I feel and see.
There are times I feel inspired,
and just as quickly they have left me.

I’ll sit with thoughts at the ready,
but the blank canvas allows them to escape.
Is my self-doubt that deadly?
My imagination is waiting for my surrender.


I was attempting something new and frightening all at the same time. I received advice about writing daily prompts and pinging back to the Daily Post. I figured what the hell? I already submitted writing to other places why not? My imagination has been through the ringer and with having CPTSD there are times I need to reign it in, and then there are times that I need to go searching for it.

Poetry Stanza Practice: A Place from Childhood

This was the stanza practice. I needed to include 2 stanzas of 5 lines and end with a couplet. I completely forgotten about where I spent most of my time as a young girl. These woods are probably gone now and housing was built on top. Sad thought but it’s probably true. Is there a place from your childhood worthy of a couple of stanzas? Try it!


The crows and woodpeckers would wake me up for a day
of playing in the woods.
I remember the slamming of the screen door behind
as I ran out into the humid sunny day.
Perfumes of morning honeysuckle tickled my nose.

The cool damp grass under my bare feet as I ran to the
green mysterious wooded wall.
Welcomed by spotted sun through through the canopy,
and I hadn’t a care for life outside or the meaning of time.
A safe haven from the humidity and heat outside the barrier.

The woods near my childhood home-
a place where I could be wild and free.

Poetry: Simile and Metaphor Exercise

This is part of the simile and metaphor section of my poetry boot camp. Ugh, all I can think is, ‘Fu%*& me, these seem lame!’ I obviously need more practice.


Directions: You will come up with 5-10 similes and then 5-10 metaphors as fast as you
can. Compare each idea or emotion to a concrete object. A concrete object is something
you can touch (a pot, a table, an ocean, etc. Fill in the blanks as fast as you can. If you can’t
think of anything, skip it and go on the next one.

Compare each emotion or idea to a concrete, specific object. The more detailed you can
get, the better!

1 (simile) Anger is like a raging bull impaled by the matador’s sword.
1 (metaphor) Anger is a raging bull impaled by the matador’s sword.
2 (simile) Love is like an owl warm and safe in her nest.
2 (metaphor) Love is an owl warm and safe in her nest.
3 (simile) Fear is like a rabbit racing away from his predator.
3 (metaphor) Fear is a rabbit racing away from his predator.
4 (simile) Work is like a cold wet blanket on a fevered child.
4 (metaphor) Work is a cold wet blanket on a fevered child.
5 (simile) Summer is like a toddler running through a meadow of Blue Bonnets
5 (metaphor) Summer is a toddler running through a meadow of Blue Bonnets
6 (simile) My mother is like the attention seeking hypochondriac in the hospital bed begging for morphine.
6 (metaphor) My mother is the attention seeking hypochondriac in the hospital bed begging for morphine.
7 (simile) Life is like a ball of yarn that is tightly wound and then being played with by a kitten only to be rewound in a neat ball and this just repeats.
7 (metaphor) Life is a ball of yarn that is tightly wound and then being played with by a kitten only to be rewound in a neat ball and this just repeats.
8 (simile) I am as strong as strong and weak as a taught thread.
8 (metaphor) I am strong and weak as a taught thread.
9 (simile) Joy is like being greeted by unconditional loving four paws.
9 (metaphor) Joy is being greeted by unconditional loving four paws.
10 (simile) Shame is like a fog hanging over your heart.
10 (metaphor) Shame is fog hanging over your heart.


I found a meaning full poem at the end of this exercise. One that allowed me to put some emotions into words. I would like to explore more poetry writing soon.

 


 

Residual Experiences

My anger is the raging bull impaled by the matador’s sword.
Fear is my rabbit racing away from his predator.
The fog hanging over my heart is shame.
I am strong and weak as a taught thread.

 

Four Walls and Four Paws

Another poetry exercise, this time rhyming. I thought something a little more up beat but it ended up being something childish. I don’t think I’ll be the next Frost our Poe but I’m learning. Practice, practice, practice…right? But I’m not liking the rhyming to much ugh! I’ll try again later.

 


 

Home is what I call four walls holding within four paws.
Her unconditional love makes me feel protected,
her excitement is evident and to her, I’m not a lost cause.
I never have to worry about being used or rejected.
She is my home base when I feel anxious or fear,
her patients is appreciated through nightmares and depression.
I never have to hide behind my four walls because my four paws is always near.

Poetry-Sensory Exercise

Practice using descriptive words to describe the sights, smells, and sounds around you.
Use the places listed below and tell what each place sounds like, smells like, looks like, etc.

I chose an emergency room.

My quick notes: Sound of beeps, metal banging, hurried footsteps, running fluids, and clicking. Smells like sanitizer, soap, blood, and latex. See bright fluorescent lights, glare from tile floors, worried expressions.


E.R.

Beep, B E E P, B–E–E–P,
they get longer and more drawn out.
Swooshing of fluids and the clanging of the bed rail lowering
usher in more rushed footsteps.
Pungent aromas of latex mixed with perfumed alcohol dance.
Worried expressions mirror off tiled floors lit by buzzing florescent lights.
B—E—–E——P

Timely Light

Ok, this took a lot for me to do. I have never written a Haiku (I don’t think I even did one in school) and was anxious for days about posting it. I’m my own worst critic but I’ve read some blogger’s poetry and absolutely stunned by the beauty of words used. Having C-PTSD sometimes (most times-who am I kidding) words escape me and I even had to double check my syllable count for the 5,7,5 rule. I already broke ‘Haiku’ rules as it’s usually based on nature. And yes, this was a writing exercise out of my writer’s boot camp. So here it goes-


Painful times die soft,
memories riot within.
Peace comes through dim light.

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