Posts Tagged ‘suicide’

copyright Gay Harper
It seems that,
with every death,
I lose a part of me.

There’s very little left,
now,
of who I used to be and

this person
I’m becoming
isn’t able to see

the person
who I was then or
treasured memories.

Locked in this head
are places to which
I no longer have the key

My identity
must have drained out
with the last bag of my IV.

A hollow shell;
mask on tight,
I still resemble me.

The me
I used to know.
The me
I used to be.

Grief is
an uphill climb in sand
with no oasis in sight

Hot wind erases footprints
as if you came from nowhere.
No path to show the way.

This journey is taken alone.

Unable to find your bearings;
Maps become senseless
when blinded by harsh light.

Stumble through a world
where nothing ever changes and
everything looks the same.

Perhaps it is the same and
you’ve been walking in circles
like a dog chasing its tail.

There is no past –
not anymore.
Memories are unwelcome.
They make people nervous.

Death is so uncivilized
especially suicide.

Just to the right
is a ragged string
of pine trees;

that is where I lie.
On top of you,
staring blankly up

like you would be
if you could see
through all that dirt.

A rainbow
half arcs the sun
from a distance,
haze in between.
Tans and browns;
not the prismatic display
it should be.
Pollution or clouds –
Who knows or cares?

To the north,
mountains float,
still wearing winter white.

Your daughter
will be a year old
next month.
Some lives went on
without you.

It’s June, 2011.
Long enough
to understand
you are never
coming back.

I spend my time
trying
to fade
into nothing,
like stars do
at dawn.

Feel the edge
I’m dropping over.
Wonder if I care.

If I’ll miss anything
when I’m no longer here.

The brush of a hand
in passing,
warm breath
on my cheek.

Indistinct burr
of voices
through the wall
I press myself
against.
Rough stone
pushes back.

I listen,
hardly breathing,
but can’t make out
the words.

Photo credit, Brian Snelson

Eyes,
two.
I have them:
blue –

or grey
depending on
the day.

Grey hair
at my temples,
blends so well
with blonde,
few can tell
how old I am.

Two lips too,
do what lips do.
When they’re
not uncertain.

Other pieces,
fairly standard:
just one nose,
two arms and legs.
Things line up
correctly.
From an outsider’s
perspective.

Inside’s where things
get tricky.
There are more people
in here
than there should be,
and that’s not counting
me.

Who am I?
I’m one of many.
All sharing the same
crooked smile.

Same lips
have other
voices,
and these ears
hear singular things.

We all share
this body.
But we have different
friends;
unique habits,
age and gender.

Figure that out,
if you can,
and if you do,
tell me.

The whole thing
has me puzzled.

With so many
we’s in me,
I’m not even sure
who’s confused
anymore.

Is it only me?

See the first buds
on wet branches.
Hear the harsh
caw of crows.

My heart
beats strongly
as a fist on the door.

Liver, lungs
and kidneys
do their work,
unnoticed.

Silent celebration
of health,
of life.

Glad to be a part
of this greening world.

Grateful
for those saviors
who return
the gift
of life
when their use
for it is done.

Somewhere
my nephew’s heart valve
still opens and shuts.

Somewhere
his corneas
share Ty’s love
of beauty.

While one family
mourns,
other families
rejoice.

Death
can become
life.

25 years ago,
my sister gave birth
through her skin;
her 3rd cesarean.

I captured the moment
with a failed flash;
emerging head illuminated
by surgical lights
otherworldly glow –
The door to Heaven,
briefly opened.

I held him first, cradled
his small, still bloody body
mere seconds before
reluctantly releasing him
to his father.

We walked to the nursery
together while they sutured
the gaping wound
through which he arrived.

Last year, I repeated the act of
returning him to his Father.

More painful this time,
because I know
he won’t be coming back.

I am practicing heartache,
learning to let go gracefully,
without tears or whimpers.

Each time I let go,
I am learning the way
to loosen my grip on what
was never really mine.

To say,
not goodbye,
but later.

The things I have
I hold closer.
They too
will leave me someday.

I am learning
how to hold on.

I am learning
how to let go.

4-1-11

A Color With No Name

Posted: March 10, 2011 in My Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

We send signals
made with smoke.
They rise up to you –

You, who have become
something else:
a thing
not of this world.

Color
who’s energy
envelopes wholly,
comforts, teaches.

A noiseless
laughing sound;
white water racing
over rocks,
sunlight’s liquid dance.

The dog drinks
melted snow
from the trough
of a fallen shovel
while I talk to you
without words.

You hold my heart
in cupped hands;
light welling
between narrow fingers.

Torn parts melt
back together
and I feel you smile.

I am happy too.
Glad the night
is full of you.

Firefly,
you flit away,
to lift another,
fallen.

Under
channeled impulse
of life
too quickly
learned.

Innocence
melted
under heat
and pressure.

That early time
is gone.

Nothing stays
for long.

But
the coiled rope
waits patiently.

It has many
uses.
Whip,
collar,
leash;

ultimately
a noose,

should things
go that
direction.

That umbilical
cord
binds me
to the past

trails into
the future.

Attempts
to sever
that lingering
link,

end with me
cut and crawling

rope
primly curled
without
a mark.

It can last
forever.

And I?
I wait
for the rope
to decide

what
its next game
will be.

***Caution to viewers. This video can be triggering/upsetting. It contains images that can be disturbing. Be safe.***
This is to provide information about this very misunderstood disorder that affects aproximately 1% of the world’s population.
The disorder is very real. As someone diagnosed with it, I know for a fact that it is.
(for those who are going to ask which song this is… it’s “About her” From the Kill Bill soundtrack)
Video & caution by MaxP0wer25 on youtube
Song Scarlet by Brooke Fraser, video by Bcciliz
video by castorgirl
Directed by Trevor Sands, posted on youtube by InsideShort
This is part 1 of 8 of a series called MPD / DID – Trauma based Mind Control – it’s well worth the time it takes to watch, if you want to understand DID.