Day to Day Poetry, poetry

Day to Day Poetry # 58

There’s a constant stream
of self-blaming
and automatic learned helplessness
that nips at me relentlessly.
Some days it’s tolerable,
and some days
it swallows me whole.

Your voice
is a celestial hand
that reaches out to me despite distance,
in spite of walls built on
the foundations of self-defence
and thousand yard stares ingrained in
gauntlets made of steel –
bringing into life, words that
reverberate in my heart to keep
me hoping for another day,
awake and
dreaming.

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Progress Update

Sudden realization that exactly a year ago, on this very day,  I was sleeping my life away in a bed at CAMH because I was so convinced that death was a better option than living my life.

And this morning I woke up to texts from my new friends, making plans to go out, telling me their stories, about to hop in the shower to see a movie with another new friend, and then have pizza with an old childhood friend, and then spend the night with my new partner.

If someone had come up to me a year before and told me that I would end up writing 57 new entries on my blog, gain a following, find a job I actually look forward to going to (even though it virtually gives me no money), read even more books, gain friends, strengthen my relationships with my old friends and find a new, amazing partner/teammate that would help me regain confidence and champion anxiety – all within a single year –  I would never have believed you.

Time is a tricky, sneaky thing. But thank goodness we have it.

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The Shaman Queen

Rehashing old blog entries because I can’t write. Enjoy!

Spontaneous Ditties

“One more line!” she proclaimed, her tie-dyed skirt flowing to her knees, held together against her chest by two, tightly clenched fists.

I grinned and said, “When shall we three meet again / In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

She bit back a laugh and replied, “When the hurlyburly’s done / when the battle’s lost and won.”

The three of us cackled, the three witches of Macbeth, the Shaman Queen of Toronto, by the corner of Bloor and Spadina, where I met her, asking for change and cigarettes.

So I adopted her, the feline-inclined, the healer of all sorts of imaginary ailments, the dress that filled my couch for the longest days, browsing through Masterchef and Netflix.

I only ever tried once to ask her about her past, which spontaneously flowed into the question of, what she used to do, before home became out of the question.

She squared her shoulders, and…

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Day to Day Poetry

Day to Day Poetry #57

Why did you come here?
The question posed to me in the city I grew up in
the place I first saw snow –
what began as a logical answer quickly became a narrative
entrenched in the dramatic and the personal.
It’s so easy to miss the importance of your own story.

Smoothly lifting me with one majestic arm,
and falling into the sacred place in between your neck,
a combination of fireworks and radiating music
that I breathe in through parted lips,
intensifying colour, amplifying sound.

Anxiety, my oldest friend,
crept up behind me so slyly,
one  blink and I would have missed it,
my default setting –
you acknowledged her presence before I even knew she was there,
and somewhere within the story of my father,
your arms wrapped me in a cocoon of safety and comfort
I did not know I need.

You carry me
with infallible courage and perpetual confidence,
holding hands, touching skin,
you catch my contradictions from my lullabies,
and I think I like it.

You are the lens that focuses my past,
I am the fog that destroys it.
Every word from your lips is encouraging,
every forceful grasp lights the fire within me
what else could you have done but absolutely nothing,
this overwhelming gratitude holds me on both sides,
I am rendered speechless,
mollified in wordless ecstasy,
imprisoned inside these giant hands that keep reaching,
nestled in with your invincibility,
and I keep reeling.

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