Her Thorn

It pricked her hand and then she bled
This sullen rose she’d always fed
No blossoms here in two long years
With only thorns to prompt her tears

She’d cut it down if she were mad
To stop the times it made her sad
Yet purposely it served her well
And helped her find a voice to yell

Then tears did fall and cleanse her thought
Relieving her of what life wrought
Into a tiny handkerchief
She breathed the air and felt relief

Her Rose

She walked her dream and looked around
With smallest flowers on the ground
The yellow bees were buzzing by
She spied a rose, and heard it sigh

The tiny drops of dew were clear
And playfully as she came near
The thorns did glistened but obeyed
The hand that once had held the spade

The hand that held a knife to prune
A blossom tender for her room
Did cut the rose, a fragrant scent
She’d not return ‘til this one spent

Letting Go

‘Sister’

When I was three, I realized
That I was not one of ‘the guys’
I wore a dress for outside play
While they wore pants; it was their way

I was a girl and they were boys
I sat and listened to their noise
So much delight there in the dirt
Yet when I played they all were curt

‘You can’t do this, you’re just a girl
Go to your place and leave our world.’
They did not care that I’d object
Nor that I felt their cruel reject

My place of beauty and delight
A sanctuary in my sight
It had four trees and lovely ground
From there they couldn’t hear a sound

I played and sang a song for them
Hoping one day that we’d be friends
Yet things continue to be the same
I am their ‘sister’, without a name

I apologize for this rather sad tale of childhood experience. However, it was in taking note of this situation, that I realized the answer to another. I have always felt rejected by my siblings. If they were allowed to ‘reject’ me, then might my parents also have been rejecting me? Three year olds do not have the capacity to ‘work through’ feelings and issues the same way that adults do. It has taken me some time to figure out my gut feelings on rejection. The hardest issue has been my rejection of self. In my zeal to embrace me and others, I have become a control freak.

Today I will stop forcing things to happen. Instead I will allow things to happen naturally. If I catch myself trying to force events or control people, I will stop and figure out a way to detach. I need peace and harmony as I let go. Just let it go.

Appreciate all life (part 2)

The painting: “The Diver and the cave”, by dcrelief

After many years of a medicated life and feeling numb to anything or anyone, I finally chose to come off of the medications and take my chances on finding some normalcy again. Yes I had some issues that had plagued for a long time that needed addressing. And I also found out that I had an illness called Fibromylagia which had induced my original depression. I wasn’t clinically depressed; however the damage done by the medications left me without a life. My mind fought hard to regain the cognitive abilities and my body, so racked by side effects, would never be the same.

Along came the day I decided to take up painting again and I wanted to do a study in black backgrounds. Reflective of my feelings at that time, black was invisible, which is how I felt. Since then black has come to be the very show piece for allowing my paintings, pictures, and photos to “pop” off the page.

This first painting called, “The Diver and the Sea Slug” was so easy and yet I spent three days fighting my insides, screaming at me, that I could not do a painting. I decided to just blank out my thoughts and let the brush and colors flow as they would. I soon learned that divers always travel in pairs! Thus along came painting number two: “The Diver and the cave”.

I did the painting for a friend and his wife, using a combination of photos they had. I listened in amazement as they told of the things they had seen underwater; the precious view they had developed for all life. From the tiniest sea creatures and larger mammals traveling great oceans, to the very divers in their group, each form of life has a place in the great cycle of existence. Though some may disappear and new ones come along, it behooves us to appreciate all life.

Hmm, each form has a place? I wasn’t sure of mine but this was a beginning thing to find me, and see what I could be… again… anew.

Some Days

The Commodore Six was speeding along
I stood by the road, with my road-singing song
‘One for a Chevy, two for a Ford
Three for the Hudson’ that snagged me onboard

I went through the grill except for my hand
My legs and my torso now wrapped the oil pan
My right hand was busy as I pulled some wires
I listened for music but only heard tires

The engine was strong and roared through its courses
Quite pleased with the power of six hundred horses
The trip uneventful, I bored of black top
And promised to leave at the very next stop