How many re-runs until you tire from watching?
The trees are not wrong,
For shedding leaves or turning charcoal after bushfires blaze
Floods and flowers are not wrong,
Nor wasp stings, moon rises or cotton candy skies
Therefore I cannot be wrong
But your man says I’m wrong so you act like I’m wrong.
How can your only creation be wrong?
Because he’s a child of the 50s and his mother never said she loved him?
Who didn’t love you?
“But I do love you,” you say
To make things better but it only makes things harder
I watch you mouth those words as you snuggle closer
to him
Can’t you see?
I cannot play this role for you
Not daughter,
nor child,
nor cure for your loneliness when he stays out late
then comes home drunk.
I see you,
shackling the un-lived life inside with your suffering.
This is no game of tag
So please
stop trying to pass it on.
I do not owe you for making me,
yet you twist the plot and play as though I do.
Do you know you do this?
I wonder,
but not for too long for too of anything is toxic
Like your need
to keep repeating the second act
crack for insecurity,
but this habit’s not mine to kick
and I yearn to venture into the third
Here I am,
Same hair,
same eyes
same calves
But to your chagrin
I aint no mini mama
Just an anomaly
made from light and lexicon
That you judge and shame
“Don’t you use your big words with me!” You say.
And for the umpteenth time
my truth goes unseen,
Fragmented,
it slithers to the bottom of my shadow sack
A ball and chain of ailments it’s caused you
But your pain is yours
and it’s not my fault
Not your headaches
Backaches
Heart aches
All aches.
“I cannot even look at you, you remind me of your father!” You say.
My sensitive, little, heart
a mosaic of cuts
Dripping blood
stains my sleeve;
irking us both like a tap in need of its washer tightened.
Do heartstrings mend?
I’ve carried your guilt,
poor choices,
burdens
and grief
since before my first breath.
How many generations of crosses do you choose to bear?
In a codependent fit of rage
my makers stained my home’s walls
with hate
with pain
as I eavesdropped from the corridor
With three-year-old arms
hugging knees in tight,
a little voice whispered:
this bullshit, family re-run stops with me.
The artistry of non-approval
Look what I made Mama
A mess
No. A painting
The carpet’s stained
It’s abstract
This makes me mad
That makes me sad
Get the carpet cleaner, it’s under the sink
It dries out my finger skin
Scrub
Scrub
Scrub
So what do you think, Mama?
Use newspaper next time.
Granny Smith
Look Dad!
Look how big my bite is!
Foamy juice droplets project all ways as she manoeuvres and masticates the crispy flesh of a Granny Smith
A little hand holds up the big green ball
revealing white crater proof
You didn’t take that bite.
I did.
Confused, but certain
The chunk that was too big to chew in one helping takes up space in her left hand, affirming her knowing.
Look, here’s the bite I took
Helping himself to the apple in her right hand
He pierces green skin
Foamy juice droplets land on her face
while the the words
“Don’t lie, your mouth is too small”
land on her heart and she wonders if she’s gone mad.
How to make a bomb
find a powerful, little girl
tie her hands
tight
tape her mouth
shut
dress her voicelessness in something pretty
something pink
reward silence
and when she retreats into a corner
with meaningless,
confusing,
love words
give it time
cause she’s destined to blow
Pass me the knife
If I cut you open,
would the pain pour out?
Would your eyes soften?
The corners of your mouth rise?
If I cut you open,
would you know you’re not your blood?
That our form is but the bearer
of the eternity inside.
Plastic bags & parachutes
She was young,
Instincts sharp
secure
unfazed
by sex,
money,
status,
the approval of others
and the impending lack of trust
in herself.
She knew unsafe before unsafe knew her.
Found in the dead stare
of power play
and mind games
“I’ll always protect you”
he said,
with breath that reeked of last night’s all-nighter
and an energy draped in myth
it wasn’t long before he collapsed
into a snoring heap
on the couch
forgetting that his young might be hungry
Petrified of the blood that made her
And the shouts he used to tame her
She chose flight.
The outbreak
depended on the potential
of an imaginary parachute
with handles clenched tight
in tiny fists
she danced about her yard
moves of magic
and an unbreakable spirit
morphed a plastic bag
into an exist strategy
dashing through the clouds
crashing to the ground
heart racing
feet pacing
commando crawling under squeaky gates
all the way to Nana’s house
where the aromas of home-cooking,
gas heating
and ironing say hello.
Safety in smells
Safety in the bosom of her mother’s mother
BANG
BANG
BANG
The backdoor shakes
power-hungry growls
pop her reverie
like a pin to a balloon
Beastly fists
drag tiny wrists
into the grumbling underbelly
of disorganized attachment
where her addiction to numbness first kicks in
You’re living
I felt my ankle break
So I could feel your ankle break
But broken ankles are not wounded hearts
they are bloody
and messy
and belong in a box
that’s locked
and pushed all the way back
to the blackest part of my under bed
yet it pounds like Jumanji
whenever you’re near
but rather than listen
I lash out in fear
How dare you, my ankle screams
Pain is pain is pain
Mine, yours, theirs
It’s the same
I remedied my ankle
with patient respect
Scar tissue takes time
For ankles
and hearts,
They are but the form of our soul’s home
Integrate!
Hold space for that pump in your chest
Let it tremble
Let it choke
Let it fuck up
Let it close off
But god damn it
Just be still and feel
Accept what is, is
Because to allow is to heal
Our brokenness is our wisdom
Tender,
Bloody,
Still,
You’re living
Daddy’s little liar
Who would you rescue if the house was ablaze?
Me?
Or your puppy?
Why would you ask me that she wonders, stepping into the arena,
Trembling in her truth
“my puppy”
Her whisper lights his inferno
He spits out lexicon
Sharp
Thundering
Caught in the crossfire,
Out of terror she weeps
His grip forces her hand
And her tongue burns with a lie
“I mean’t to say you, daddy”
Flicks of yellow in his chestnut eyes flare up in dominion
Relentless, he continues his campaign
“You’d let a helpless puppy die in a fire?”
Addicted
I love you like you love cigarettes
Effortlessly
All the time
When your eyes peep open with the rising of the sun
During recess
All consuming
Yearning
Needing
Burning
Blanketing
Helplessly
Hopelessly
An expression of truest self
Impossible to stop
Unable to say no - even though, perhaps, I must.
It costs
My essence
My breath
I choke, “please stop smoking, Mama”
and you reply, “pass me the lighter”
Sucker for a sunset
Arrrggghhhhhhhhhhhh
Fuck you
for piercing me with your eucalyptus-tinted point of view
Fuck you
and your sapience
and the light it shone
guiding my spirit on its way
Fuck you
and the explosive profundity of your very existence
Fuck you
for unleashing my love;
holding space;
to practice courage and
reveal the colour of trust;
Fuck you for being the reason to believe in the stuff of gods
Oh how I want to tell that fairytale meet-cute to fuck off
into the deepest, depths of winter
where it all began.
But…
Were it not for February snow
and castles in the dark,
How could I haven known the infinity of the sun?
Or the capriciousness of summer romance?
Without the confluence of two stray hearts
I may not have seen nor nursed my darkest parts.
Feels a little like heading east to chase a sunset
Even so, gratitude perseveres
In the tune of Swan’s song I sing Fuck you
and thank you with salt in my eyes.
Now excuse, but which way’s West?
The most precious gift
I take the time
To learn how I work
So I can love myself
As deeply as I need
Memories from a future moment
And there I am,
A little older
Still wearing a mane
Dressed in something long and flowing
Sitting on your blue couch
But this time it’s red
And I can’t see you
But I know that it’s you
And that this time
The rules have changed
SYD-LAX
To the young couple with a newborn in the 31st row, seats GED.
Thank you.
I see you
loving each other
loving your little, girl so carefully swaddled in pink and blue muslin.
I see you
authentically participating in each others’ existence with deep respect.
Air Canada messed up your seats
This flying tin can corporation teased you
Positioning you in the row behind the row with the bassinet.
Many others would have oozed with entitlement.
Making a raucous of scrunched faces and demands
But your youthful humility is a rare treat for my wistful eyes as I watch on from 33C
It feels like witnessing Haley’s comment
A once in a super blue blood moon treat
How wild?
To witness you Indulge in the pure joy of flying 20,000 feet closer to the sun with your little creation of love.
Contented smiles
Nourished souls
It’s the lens through which you appreciate that makes it work
It’s so beautifully simple when you allow
No obstacle
No airline error shall intervene with your choice to be present
To cherish this gift
Of being
Seeing is believing
Teams of gold are no myth
And so, I’ll co-create one…
Some day