Warfare Fetish

I hurt myself
I commit acts of violence toward myself
I take a loaded gun- a bare cock, lock it into place,
Point it at my bulls-eye cervix
And fire away

Blast boom bam
Bedazzling fireworks are followed by smoke and tears
I burned myself in the crossfire for too many years
My body is the battlefield
The dust settles and the smoke clears
I know what I must do- get rid of this unhealthy relationship, drop that atomic break-up bomb on this unsuspecting man’s heart

Though he will complain of the grenade-like explosion I throw at him,
I am the one who picks up the pieces
I am the one who deals with pregnancy and gets an abortion
I am the one who feels the pain of picking out the bullet and the shrapnel shards- the little life growing inside my uterus

I’m sorry, little one
I’m so sorry
You didn’t get a fighting chance
I was fighting myself all along

I want peace for you, me and all beings
Finally, the dear doctor who provided my most recent abortion agreed to give me an IUD

I let out a sigh of relief, feeling supported by this safety net
I finally have control over my body and my future
No more pregnancy scares

I want to practice safer sex
With condoms every time
With printed STI results
That my partner and I exchange
Before we come close to swapping bodily fluids
I never want to have an abortion again

The next time I get pregnant, it will be because I want to, because I am ready, because my partner and I are committed to each other, and are committed to care for another little life.

After warring against myself for many years,
At last my love for myself has come along
May I take a break from singing this sad song-
May I stop getting my rocks off on harming myself
May I put my masochism back on the shelf.

May I no longer explore my fetish of warfare against myself.

Wild Thing

I do things that I know I shouldn’t

I do the impossible, people said I couldn’t

I do wild things, you thought I wouldn’t

But I did and I do

I’m gonna keep on living how I see fit for me, not you

Your discontent has nothing to do with me

So don’t cry to me that I aborted the pregnancy

If you’d been half a man worth half a damn

Maybe I would’ve reconsidered

But you made it easy

I’m a wild thing

My body is mine and mine alone to keep

I am not an extension of you, you goddamn creep

Now you know, I don’t play when you mess with me

I’m wild and I’m going to stay that way

I won’t be the victim of your domestic abuse

I’ve already ridden that train and I know it goes right to Insaneland

You can stay there, I’ve hitchhiked elsewhere

I’m a wild thing

You are not allowed in my organic garden of Eden

You are too bitter to taste the sweetness my fruit

 

Poetry

Poetry won’t stop leaking out of me
My hands get a tingle
My mind sings a jingle
I search for paper on which to scratch
Anything within reach
Backs of receipts, napkins, old scraps
All other activity falls to the wayside
Until I see the poem before my eyes

I write about the unspoken suffering of my life
Of being brutally silenced
Since infancy I was trained not to cry when I wanted to cry
My feelings were an inconvenience to those by my side
I came to understand that my needs were not important enough to be expressed, and if I made the mistake of even showing how I felt through my face or my body, such truth was beaten out of me by those closest to me
Far worse than the violence was the mental abuse
and even worse than the mental abuse was the neglect
Sometimes I felt invisible and other times I felt like I wasn’t invisible enough
I wished that I could fly away
The shouting was so loud, where could I hide?
I locked my door but they always burst inside
No boundaries
I cried in secret silence everyday
I learned that I existed to be what others wanted me to be
I delivered what was required
Though inside me raged a fire
The primordial desire
To be free
I’d give anything to live just for me

When I became grown, I left home
But my well-trained brain followed me wherever I roamed
Autonomy is foreign to me
I met many lovers but they always chose me
Because I pleased them easily
I never returned the favor
Of serving up the criticism they so abundantly showered upon me

Joyfully, I recently discovered that the suffering of my life has a name;                                                            Narcissistic Abuse
There are healthier ways to love, ladies and gentlemen
I want more harmony and less harm done to me
I am trying to create a life that I want to live,
One where I give from my heart instead of feeling like a marionette jerked around by the malicious hands of fear

I want to tell others how I feel and what I am thinking
Speak from my heart
Release my throat chakra
Weave a tapestry with the golden thread of my truth
Relentlessly I work at this nearly impossible task
Like a seed below the soil, the only place I have to grow is toward the sun
But healing my mind feels like building a castle on quicksand
My efforts collapse, fall and fail every day

I must remember to give myself compassion, the way I try to give my abusers compassion
I have succeeded before in speaking my mind
With every break-up, no matter how clumsy my wording or how long it took me to work up the courage
I want to tell my exes that when I hurt them by finally breaking up with them, it was because I was trying to reclaim my life and honor both of us
God, have I suffered at the hands of men
When they hurt me, it was because they were trying to get a rise out of me, or hurt me out of spite
I want to tell them: Get a life, you jerks

May they stop terrorizing me and find inner peace swiftly

I feel awful about the things I’ve done that I didn’t want to do
Especially the things I’ve done with men
The sex was violent, violating, painful and humiliating
If only I could forget it, but even my body remembers
I think I will always see men as perpetrators, even though not all of them are
An overwhelming amount of the ones I’ve known are
I struggle to shake them off me when they’re ready to rape me yet they’re nowhere to be found when I’m ready to abort our unplanned pregnancies
That excruciating physical and emotional pain is just for me

The bloody landscape of no man’s land

I understand that as an adult survivor of child abuse, I attract abusers
I’m developing a repellant
By noticing patterns and breaking them
Prevent problems before they start
The best defense is a good offense

I still worry
Worry that my heart will always feel broken
Worry that the countless times I was raped will catch up with me in the form of STDs or infertility
I worry that I will always live in fear
I worry that I will always worry
I worry that I will feel sad and mad all my life
I worry that I will continue to suffer though I shouldn’t worry about that because suffering is guaranteed and worrying will do no good
Life is pain
That’s the rule of the game
I can still win the game of life even though I was born with disadvantages, for my advantages are greater still
I have hope and heart
I’m writing a happy ending to my story
I am writing with a golden pen of glory
I am writing unstoppable poetry
Until victory, always

Thank you.

Finding Sukha

Sometimes I feel angry
I could blame my parents for the anger they passed down to me through their nature and their nurture
But they are only survivors of abuse and neglect themselves, victims of inter-generational psychological torture
I like to think that they were doing the best they knew how
With limited resources at the time
It was a different world back then;
There was little awareness and poor preparedness,
Less information and more isolation

Sometimes I feel sloppy
My movements get choppy
I crash, splash and make a mess
I only hope that I don’t take anyone down with me
When I slip and fall
Reminding me that in my haste, I don’t save time at all

Sometimes I feel on edge
I am irritable and my mind carves a ledge
Off of which I can easily slip
Into a hellish well
Of memories echoing back at me
Little things that seem big disproportionately when viewed at close range

Like the time an ex gave me condescending lip
When he proudly pronounced the word ‘dukkha’
Then judged me on how the Sanskrit word (not the concept, mind you) was unfamiliar to my vocabulary at the time

Dukkha is commonly translated as ‘suffering’, which is an important concept in Buddhism because the Buddhist path was designed to liberate people from suffering by helping them first overcome their desires/selfish cravings

I am all for liberation, but his elitist attitude was not resonating with me
That fool tried to school me on suffering like I’d never suffered a day in my life, when I’ve suffered every damn blessed day of my life

So I gave him a lesson in letting go of attachment by leaving him

I thought he could stand to benefit from the lesson and

I don’t need to take shit from a privileged prick about fancy words that I was too busy earning a living through sex work to have the time to learn from a text book

Books are hella expensive anyway

That’s why I gladly share my writing freely

Cuz I want it to reach people like me

People who were born into economic or emotional poverty

Through these simple words I string together

I humbly hope to help alleviate suffering in others

Perhaps it only helps alleviate my own suffering, but even that would be enough

I am a person, too

Also, writing feels like free therapy to me

I’ve still never been to actual therapy

I hear the prices are crazy

But I digress…I don’t have the energy to deal with fits of vanity

from spoiled boys who get off on looking down on me and the rest of the world

I think that instead of judging anyone who hasn’t heard the word ‘dukkha’
It would’ve served him better to find sukha
Sukha means ‘ease’

My point is this:
Everybody experiences dukkha (suffering, pain, unsatisfactoriness or stress) and hopefully sukha (happiness, ease, pleasure or bliss) in their lives
Everyone around the world attends the school of life; we are born, live and die in that classroom
But not everybody has access to the luxury of learning outside of their immediate human interactions
However that makes them no less educated than those who have the resources for recreational reading
At least in my book

So I’d tell that ex (if I could stomach the thought of communicating with him, which I presently don’t)
That if he thinks he is superior to others
Because he’s so well-read
Then maybe he should know
How to fit his ego back inside his head

With compassion, I recognize that fear of inadequacy lies at the root of his speaking boastfully

Here are some lessons that I’ve learned, and they aren’t in Sanskrit:
The ego inflates easily but deflates again eventually, and when the ego balloon gets stabbed by a needle it can be a long, hard fall down to the ground                                                                                                    Liberation from our egos and freedom from our desires is the ultimate gift
Money can buy a book but it can’t buy wisdom
Material wealth will get you inside the ivory tower but it won’t shelter you from suffering

Just look at my ex; he was rich in his wallet but impoverished in his heart-mind
Leaving him so that I could be poor but happy
Was a decision that put me at ease,
At ease like sukha

Sometimes I need a lesson in letting go too

Sometimes I find sukha

Rhyming Truth

 

I’ve been working through some inner stuff lately
Trying to knock down the foundation
That overshadows my life greatly

What a rocky road
I never know when the floodgates of tears will open
But they do
And I nearly drown in the saltwater
Until I wash up on the shore
Sputtering and struggling to get my bearings
I blink my stinging eyes and see…

Ye Olde Ancient Grains of Trauma
Which perpetuate their seed
This heavy necklace can’t hold even one more bead

I want to get off this Merry-Go-Rama
And stand on my own two feet
Instead of piling this old sandwich higher
To heights far more than I’d care to eat

You are skilled in the healing arts
Spreading laughter and medicinal farts
However more than anything,
I crave sacred solo time
To sit with myself
Cry and write
Recover and realize
How to live my most authentic life

I admire you for so many reasons
To lead you on surely would be treason
I pray and hope you can understand
Why I want to rip out weeds
And plant nourishing seeds in my land

What I’m trying to say
As gently as can be
Is that I need my time
Just for me

I was already on this road before we met
I started to slip off the Single Wagon with you
Now I’m climbing back on again

When it comes to healthy relationships, I’m not ready yet
Your presence cast an amnesic spell on my Singleton Mission
With all that good energy you generously be dishin’
But I digress, anytime I undress…

A bird needs rest
Before a long flight
And I could stand to practice
Being comfortably alone at night

I’ve come to realize
That I use men like a drug
To feed my stress addiction
Keep someone nearby to please around the clock
Until, inevitably, I let them down
Which hurts them, makes them cry and frown
To men, I feel like a drug as well
Because for a time I make them feel good, downright swell

It is of course, much more complicated than that
So I’m striving to simplify my life
Be more like a cat
Eat, sleep, play and purr
Watch the birds
And clean my fur
Most of all, clean up from my stress addiction
It is a living hell of an affliction

I am confident that someway, someday
I will meet fellow travelers on the road
And be brave enough to speak my truth
Come what may

You are the one of the first
To read such heartfelt prose
I hope it is well-received
It feels strange to stray away from
Aiming only to please
If I were speaking, my voice would shake
If I were writing, the pen would quake

But I think you’re the type of person
Who would want to hear my truth
Could handle it, and hold space for it
And understand my need to quit
My people-pleasing which
Doesn’t please anyone in the long-run
So please be free, stay healthy and have fun

And I’m sorry, darling, for any suffering I have incurred,
If I’ve set off any inner alarm
Even though pain is part of life
I strive to do no harm

Trauma Talk

Trauma Talk

I have been terrified of people my whole life
Never felt safe to express myself to anyone
I took a chance with you
And you replied

Without acceptance, without compassion
But with bold, CAPITOL FUCKING LETTERS
Barking condescending commands at me
Drowning me in my own cortisol

As a reflexive response,
I served you up the sweet lies you desired
All the while feeling so damn bitter inside
I reacted out of my unmet need to feel safe
So I soothed you with words that came to me easily

Because the skill of pleasing others
Is one that I’ve practiced everyday of my life
Although I hate this invisible prison
And I’d give anything to break free of it

The simple salty truth
Is that I don’t enjoy spending time with you
But your ego refuses to accept that
Why is it unbelievable that I could not want you?
What do you think is so damn great about you?

At the end of the day, you are just another damn dick in my face

I understand that I probably contort the message
As I try to spoon-feed it to you in a palatable package
But your certainty that we have a wonderful connection
Is just you falling for my deception

You are my most recent catch
I try to throw you back in the ocean
But you willingly stay hooked
Stubbornly clinging to your ideas

Attached to the illusion I gave you

Why waste my breath trying to tell you this?
You are deafened by your own loud voice
Please learn how to talk to traumatized people
I’ll give you some advice: start by listening
Listening is a choice