The vessel of clay falls from the table,

an angel's fall from grace.

Shattering

against the cold stone floor,

thousands of shards

now take its place.

That moment,

singular impact- agonizing,

renders the object

transformed, utterly:

once whole, now broken apart;

merely a pile of shards

left behind-

sharp, jagged

broken, raw.

Such a transformative event

-jarring,

painful-

all surrounding

take note.

Feeble attempts begin

to tidy, to fix --

inevitably.

Meeting these with pain,

even blood,

scattered shards

are left behind.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Potter returning,

with heartache unbearable

at this sight: a beloved vessel smashed.

Potter desiring restoration

of past wholeness,

ignores pain, blood;

gingerly collecting shards,

painstakingly molding splintered pieces,

at long last,

those shards of the beloved are reunited

into the wondrous form of a whole

once more.

This beloved is cracked,

but not unlovely.

This beloved is cracked,

but not useless.

This beloved is cracked,

but not irrevocably damaged.

This beloved vessel is:

beautiful, unique, strong;

all because it is cracked.

#poetry #personal #metaphor #hope #perspective #identity

{ read about the history & philosophy of kintsugi here:

https://www.lifegate.com/people/lifestyle/kintsugi }

-CW/TW: mentions of self-induced vomiting-

The toothbrush-

stiff, coarse bristles,

gracefully-curved plastic handle

adorned with Barbie’s perpetual smile and everlasting perfection-

sits in my tender juvenile palm

with the same crushing weight

resting upon the broad, muscular shoulders of Atlas.

Crouching, defeated

a mere crumpled heap,

upon the cold, hard floor-

my young mind

struggles to make sense

of the mess life has already become.

A handful of moments

--frantic run-away thought trains,

tornadoes and tidal waves of conflicting emotions,

desperate dead-end plans--

pass, before…

“Decision made.”

Newfound decisiveness,

renewed conviction

now on-board;

I take action,

seeking much-needed relief.

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Open wide."

Barbie’s perfect smiling face

quickly makes its way

down

down

down.

My stomach turns.

Sweet relief…

Glorious levity…

I bask in the glow.

Gazing at my vomit,

marveling at the wretchedness once trapped within

as it swirls far away through the pipes,

I notice

the most curious

feelings in my body:

my stomach, cleansed-

no longer clogged with anguish, self-loathing;

my mind, freed-

no longer obstructed with torment and secrets;

my lungs, opened-

liberated from cinder block weights of anxiety, fear.

“This is the answer.”

#poetry #personal #emotional #pain #struggle #survivor #trauma #abuse #ptsd

Breaths coming heavily;

muscles aching, shaking;

mind pleading for rest;

at long last, as though a gift from above,

a clearing appears-

and I see her.

A beautiful oak tree,

she stands tall,

clothed in gorgeous fall foliage,

bathed in warm sunlight.

Without warning, the air I breathe

breaks my heart-

filled with profound melancholy,

leaden with regrets,

the faint whispers of weeping dancing on the wind,

the vast, heavy darkness of mourning.

This being, so purely magnificent,

I yearn to understand;

through empathy, a bond of respect and kindness,

I feel her explain:

“I feel myself rustling in the wind-

I am shaken.

I see a reflection at the water's edge,

this image...unrecognizable-

I am changing.

I gaze upon my leaves,

once verdant and lush,

now blood red and brittle-

I loathe my new form.

I smell the pungent odor

of my decaying foliage-

I am shedding, left exposed,

parts of me dying.

I taste the refreshing water

of rain and of lake;

still I change, still I die-

I am hopeless, desperate.

I hear

birds chirp, deer scuttle, squirrels scurry,

for life goes on-

yet, I feel dead.”

As her lamentations end,

I feel- for a moment- one with her...

I have experienced such a place before.

I posses an advantage- perspective;

I know spring comes, carrying

renewed strength,

fresh growth,

surges of life, hope, meaning.

“Hold on." I urge.

“You are not dying;

you are preparing

to be reborn.”

#poetry #personal #journey #life #growth #survivor #perspective #shift #hope

I float,

lifted

out of myself;

I tingle,

freed

of physical body's bondage;

Vision goes dark,

ears falling silent,

released

from ever-swirling external clutter, stress, provocation.

Sadly, such a flawed strategy.

Numbness

empties me

of thought,

of experiences,

myself.

Numbness

blocks me

from ideas,

from emotions,

myself.

This measure, protective,

developed to

wrap me

in comfort, a cocoon of plush cotton;

swaddle me

in security and safety.

This measure, protective

also

robs identity,

strips control,

hides self from self.

Like floating

through hell-fire and molasses,

slowly trudging

through time-

unable to escape

the burning,

the smoldering,

the smoke and haze.

Despite

the cocoon's ease,

the swaddle's relief,

a realization builds within

...

As through hell-fire and molasses

I float,

pulled along by formidable force unseen,

time passes;

life all-around continues;

my own becomes history.

#poetry #personal #emotional #mentalhealth #mentalillness #dissociation #ptsd #survivor #journey

This piece was written about my experience living with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

“Pick one,”

the world tells me,

lacking any true understanding

of the choices I have

or that it is snatching those from me

by uttering such a command,

fiercely shoving this square peg into its pre-approved round hole.

“Pick one,”

the world tells me,

because people like me-

who really are we-

are: “odd”

misunderstood,

“frightening” to the blissfully ignorant.

"Pick one,"

they say,

because having thirty-something names (and counting)

is far too large a burden to them;

I better keep myselves to myself,

push through alone,

lest I bring shame,

lose relationships.

However

“Embrace all,”

I say,

because all of these parts

are parts of me-

parts that I need,

parts whose concerns I heed,

parts whose loss I would greatly grieve.

“Embrace all,”

I say,

because people like me-

who really are we-

are: courageous,

resilient,

fearfully strong,

(in part) because of

the choices available,

the uniquely beautiful structure and functioning of each of our minds.

And, so,

I pick all,

not one,

forgetting “the world”,

because my first duty is to me…

all of me.

#poetry #personal #emotional #memoir #experience #life #acceptance #perspective #survivor #trauma #abuse #ptsd

Rising

from the ashes,

from fire and brim...

...a phoenix

reawakens,

resurrects,

reconciles with the life

that caused its downfall once before.

I am

such a creature- one

taking the fire of destruction,

making a fertile ground for rebirth;

taking cold and bitter ashes,

making clemency and beauty;

taking death,

making life.

I am

created from

that which destroyed me,

stronger

than ever before.

With newfound strength,

my courage,

my tenacity,

are multiplied

exponentially.

With these expounded virtues,

these precious gifts,

I conquer the very last of

my demons,

climbing to the very top of

my mountains

in this life.

This cycle

of death

and rebirth,

of strengthening,

continues

until I reach

my place of peace

and

-at long last-

am able

to pass this gift

to another.

#poetry #personal #phoenix #growth #journey #power #empowered #survivor #trauma #ptsd

Sprinting

to the bathroom:

panting;

heart pounding;

perspiration pooling

in my body's every nook and cranny.

Slamming the door,

desperately searching for a lock,

frantically building a blockade,

I am- at long last-

alone.

Tearing open

the shower curtain —

the same way

I rip and claw open

my skin

in times of desperation,

times like these —

I fumble with the knobs,

“dammit…”

Finally,

I find focus, willing the violent trembling of my hands

to S L O W . . .

At last, success;

my hand grasps

the one marked “H”,

wrenching it far as it will go —

wishing it would go

even farther.

Stumbling into the tub,

I stand there

nearly comatose,

my skin becoming

scorched,

as red as a pool of freshly shed blood;

my mind becoming

empty,

as black as the sky

in the dead of night

when you’re utterly alone.

Several moments pass

of simply scalding my skin.

I reach out for the soap —

“Yes” —

“thank God” —

loofah, doused.

I viciously scrub

(as viciously as he rubbed) —

Maybe I can peel off, remove and forget, the layers of myself that have been ruined...

Maybe I can exfoliate away the personal death and decay of awful memories and agonizing emotions… —

from head to toe.

Then, I do it again.

And, again.

I watch,

in a daze,

bubbles and suds

dead skin flakes

droplets of blood

swirling down the drain,

only to realize...

...I’m still dirty…

“Fuck.”

Stumbling out,

grabbing whatever threadbare, too-small towel is within reach,

I lie on the floor:

a heap of soiled linens.

If I can’t burn off this dirt with boiling water,

if I can’t scrub off this filth with all my might,

will I ever be clean?

#poetry #personal #emotional #pain #struggle #shame #survivor #trauma #abuse #ptsd

Courage is

the verdant newborn grass sprout

thrusting

through layers of

stony, craggy, chalk-defaced sidewalk cement-

taking a risk,

in order to thrive

in its hostile

“wrong”

unforgiving

environment.

Courage is

the fragile young orchard seedling

pushing, pushing, pushing evermore

through layers of

moist, thick, tightly packed peat soil,

of death and decay,

taking a risk-

in order to

provide shade and bear fruit;

in order to grow

in its hostile

“wrong”

unforgiving

environment.

Courage is

me: a delicate, still maturing, unique individual

climbing, fighting, clawing,

through layers of muck and mire,

of pain and suffering,

of darkness and despair,

those places I seem to feel oddly “at home”-

taking quite the risk-

in order to

give light and share hope;

in order to live

(without fear and blame,

without guilt, without shame);

in order to thrive

and to grow…

in my own somewhat hostile

seemingly “wrong”

somewhat unforgiving

environment.

#poetry #personal #emotional #courage #growth #journey #trauma #survivor

My existence has

meaning,

that power source fueling

my daily decision

to continue living,

because

-despite

its acute pain

and more chronic suffering-

I can still...

feel cared for

when friends

go out of their way

to check on me,

just because;

feel worthwhile or necessary

when someone, anyone,

is willing to articulate

the ways I’ve positively impacted

their life;

feel the full heart of a caretaker

when Mooshie and Gem

meow

as they hear my voice over the phone,

run

to greet me with affection and admiration;

feel beautiful

when he

stops

in his tracks-

just to take in a second glance;

feel valuable

when we

cry and cry,

do our best to make things right,

and there I find him

still snuggled

next to me,

molded

to my body’s curves,

seeping

into each nook and every cranny

the next morning;

feel hopeful

when my eyes

take in the sunrise

or my skin

its rays-

warmed by light

at last;

feel cleansed

when I

feel the gentle caress

of the water-

renewed,

as the old

is taken away

and the new

is finally

given a place;

feel large and grand

as I

remember,

savor

my victories of this life-

allowing myself

pride, praise;

feel small and insignificant

as I

gaze

into the depths

of the vast night sky-

pondering possibilities,

feeling free;

feel safe

when he

wraps me

in the blankets,

cradles me

in his arms,

I hear

his steady breathing,

look over

to see

his face- calm-

everything

will be okay.

#poetry #personal #life #journey #gratitude #positive #positivity #perspective

(Life)

a beautifully delicate,

yet forceful and strong

nutcracker-

poised

around the neck of

(Me)

a plainly forgettable,

yet sturdy and steadfast

bottle of All-Purpose Glue...

I-

on the outside:

opaque,

unassuming,

yet full to the brim

with a goopy, sticky mess-

my own carefully hidden secrets and pain

and

It-

appearing:

flawless,

fine,

yet cold and unfeeling in truth,

ready to crack me in two-

leaving my “mess”

spilling out

into the open…

Seemingly catastrophic.

Yet,

upon some reflection,

perhaps

not so…

Yes, I am

filled to the brim

with a goopy, sticky “mess”

but

this substance

brings and holds

things together,

I’ve found.

Bizarre phenomenon.

So,

maybe,

perhaps,

this process

called life-

this bursting,

this breaking,

this coming out into the open-

is less catastrophe

and more opportunity…

To use

the goopy stickiness

of my “mess”,

its many varied lessons,

its “all purpose-ness”,

to hold myself

and bring others

together-

to be

the glue

I’ve always needed.

#poetry #personal #emotional #reflect #reflection #hope #positive #positivity