Exit left… continues. 4/25-6/22/18
i be found
she twirled around
the story ever changing
each token took to spoken
Silence engulfs. 4/25-6/22/18
why i am
i am not here
to garner attention
i am here
to figure me out
in a public fashion
i stride toward the shore
words splash against my skin
life of sin
and so much more
as i watch feet pass
the told expression -mouthed
they, no longer me
their passing thoughts
my mind to follow along -wonder
where ever will i depart
stop to ask
“where is there left to go?”
it really is
all about control
if i lose control -of myself
you certainly will try
to control me
Like this lady, i enjoyed my day at the Museum of Fine Arts. It was the last weekend of a Klimt/Schiele exhibit i did not want to miss.
My fav Klimt drawing exhibited. The innocence and vulnerability of humanity, caught in lines of fragility.
My fav Schiele self-portrait exhibited. I feel like this myself, most days. Miserable with a hint of reprise!
I wrote the above to help me through a day, last week. It was not meant for public consumption, but after reading Aguycalledbloke this morning, i decided to share. This is but a snippet of my relationship with my mother.
Is it worth returning to this planet? Of trying to understand why i am so crazy today? Am i not making progress any more? Am i not rebelling against their prison, set-up to chain me to the past?
I am my own person. My parents are gone. They had their chance to live. I have today and i cannot live in their fear… a person cannot fully live, regretful.
My love of nature is born from my dad. For that i am eternally grateful.
Direction, June 2, 2018
Run free Jeanne! Run free…
Were you allowed to express yourself growing up? Or were your passionate explorations squelched?
Arts were a forbidden country for me. A taboo. Superstitions of poverty and starvation, my becoming promiscuous, rang from my mother’s mouth. Dad silently agreed. When i turned 18 i told them i was going to college. When they did not listen, i screamed “they couldn’t keep me imprisoned.” Dad reacted otherwise. His anger boiled over. I submitted and got married and had children. Then grew up. I became bold and started writing. Bought paints and danced on paper. Looked through a camera lens to find moments worth holding.
My heart reopened as a bee flew past. He promised fruit in my life if i would spread open my wings.
I fly away to dream.
Time, a trusted friend, teaches those mourning, to question and speak out loud. Over and over, Time welcomes Guilt, Anger, and Despair.
Yet, suicide survivors cannot begin to understand… how will peace ever exist in this chaos? Just one word, thought or picture, sends us in a spiral. Those days become wrapped in Sorrow. Then Relief appears. Days saunter on and we learn progress takes small steps.
Our eyes lift and grow wide… a visit. Time, our best friend. Patiently, Time sits, listens for a while. I let Time’s silence be silent, until i can hold it in no longer! I pray to release chains… memories have become a prison. My wishes, a disease. Confusion sets in.
Time please forgive and pardon this aching soul. I beg Relief to visit. A stranger far too long.
i could say
rather i drown
beneath this invisible cloak
knit with a double cable stitch
made to keep me warm
i suffer in the humid summer
bit by mosquitoes who crawl through the yarn
shiver, afraid to emerge
ever be seen…
silence takes my voice
and everyone else takes my blood