Abusive Remains
Siblings.
Each has their own version of What happened and How,
but most importantly, Why.
Emptied of shame, I still wonder.
Am I sure in my memories?
Have I scratched theme enough to bleed,
to tear a hole deep through to
the beating heart that still skips a beat
when HIS name is mentioned?
Did HE really hang the moon?
Was HE blameless,
spotless?
HE was, after all,
remorseless.
Should I feel guilty? Was I mistaken?
Perhaps I was demon-possessed after all.
One good exorcism and I’d be like new.
One dip in the blood of the Lamb and I’d be reborn… or so she says.
Except, as I drift off to sleep on some nights,
my head still tilts back slooooowly and
my mouth opens and
I am choked in that brutal rhythm.
It was real.
It happened.
It remains.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Poetic Asides asked for poems on the word “Empty,” and ABC Wednesday, rather than reverting to another alphabet, started over with “A.” Also posted at the STELLAR blog, Poets United. Come to all these sites. Meet my genius friends!! Amy
The Poets United prompt was Loneliness. This was my take on it. Peace, Amy
In My Solitude
He’s gone out the door for yet another
long, dour weekend with his mother
I am left to my own devices
TV never quite suffices
Hating the quiet, the isolation
I head out for café consolation
Alone in a crowd, it’s win, win again
Just me and my journal, my mind and my pen
Could call up some friends and do a flick
Then toast and get toasted until I’m sick
But I decide not to pick up the phone
The comfort: Control is mine alone
I hear music vaguely beguiling my mind
See dancing figures upon the blind
Phrases now pop up from deep recesses
These help assuage any “home alone” stresses
And with synesthesia, quick movement of eyes
Creates haunting noises that always surprise
I pray, I eat takeout, and sure, I do miss him
But sometimes a girl needs a break on a whim
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
(Synesthesia affects me this way: When I move my eyes side to side, there follows a tracking, sort of metallic noise, not unlike the Six Million Dollar Man jumping sound. Sorry, it’s a US TV reference, my out of country friends!
True story. Again, using the “snowball” form… Amy
Who Really Needs the Shrink?
Here
in the
waiting room
a little boy
frantically pushes
buttons on a hand-held
video game and says, “Shit!”
Mom smacks him upside the head and
looks around, daring anyone to
say anything. She gets his script. They leave.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at Poets United
This is for my friend M., with whom I had a conversation today. Some days are like this; others, much better… Peace, Amy
Quiet House Riot
Alone, left at home.
Isolation is
cold consolation.
Then the storm moves in.
Soon floodgates open;
silent shrieks fill cracks
in fractured places.
Sea salt shores it up.
Building castles of crystalline tears.
The Dark Ones hand me a shovel.
They say, “Dig it.”
They aren’t hip – they’re talking about my grave.
Maroon lagoon
of sodden gloom.
So low,
solo.
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also at my poetic home, Poets United.
Two girls in one… both of them me before I got the right mix of meds and therapy. A note to folks who have the same condition, please know I’m NOT making fun of anybody living with any type of mental disorder or chemical imbalance. I learned how to laugh at myself as part of my therapy and to be open to that wacky part of my heritage. I’m also part of NAMI Stigma Busters. Amy (For Poets United’s Poetry Pantry.)
DEPRESSED (a dirge)
Leaden footsteps dog my pace
Straining, forcing smile on face
Gravity has conquered me
Hard to muster strength to… be
Wheels are grinding ever slower
Ten more steps to my front door
Dropping bags and sloughing coat
Sitting in a sinking boat
———————————————-
MANIC (an effervescent Peter Cottontail hippity-hop)
Wow I feel great I’m late for work but it’s
not my fault this jerk on TV was sooooooooo
fascinating I had to watch this invention
and the audience was soooooooo enthusiastic
about it just twelve payments of $19.95 plus
shipping so I called oops that credit card
is maxed, went through three before I hit
the jackpot it’s a juicer that also vacuums
your cat whattaya think about that? Gotta
run run run I’m late for work wait there’s
the cafe need coffee and a biscotti really bad
catch you later what’s your name again?
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
This happened long ago and far away, but the memory still stings. Mental health consumers, take note. Amy
Dark Place In An Old-Time Church
Once upon a time, I, Sunday School teacher and wife of the preacher
asked for prayers for my falling, frail state of
misdiagnosed psychiatric overdose.
What a head-first dive into the greasy gruel of the gossip pool.
Mental illness was whispered there with vague disgust.
These were tough folks, “pull yourself up by your bootstraps”
Could spare no time for a mental lapse
Manic = panic = Someone Else’s Family
Treat diabetes with insulin
No reason my skin should’ve been thought thin
Imbalance of a chemical nature, a different nomenclature
My bootstraps are still pharmaceutical
Incidental mental quirks, deep emotion runs
through my family like Drano through pipes
creative, self-deprecating, frustrating, flustered
mermaids – hilarious but precariously perched on the rocks
It was no a sin, this place I was in,
and not theirs to judge,
for as they whispered uneducated superstitions behind me back,
they were also mocking Jesus’ message of love
I sing praise to the God who has seen me at my lowest and pulled me higher.
While I was wrapped in darkness
God lit the fire, showed me the light, and
got me from uptight to upright
They stared as I took my fall;
I scared them all, even as I forgave them in my heart.
Upright eventually, but when would I fall again?
And then – when would I mend?
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Also posted at my poetic home, Poets United.
Precipice
Teetering on the rim
of crystal so thin
a butterfly’s wing could
send her tumbling back
down, down, down
into the glass carnival
Where distorted lens
meets bloodshot eye
Where feet lose footing,
sliding on the gloss
Where beating on the wall
can cut you to the bone
Where they can look in
but she is alone
trapped in prisms
of sunlight’s whim
Where is she’s not careful
she will be burned to an ashen memory
The limits are clear,
but not so the options
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, the letter “P”; for We Write Poems, “Take it to the Limit,” and, as always, at Poets United, the home of so many wordsmiths, for Thursday Think Tank: Monsters. If you visit these blogs, either click on the “comments” button to access the work of plenty of amazing poets, or at ABC, simply click on a face! Peace, Amy
Went to visit my new psychiatrist today for the first time. Good session, but I think he had more fun than I did, since hearing my story… locales, incidents, and stories of my mom’s family, all make for quite the first impression, clinically speaking! Thanks for all your prayers and good thoughts over the past week. I am indeed well again! Amy
THE BIG TOP
Under the big top streaked with gray
They dance and perform; they’re at constant play
One is careening across center ring
in a clown car with spears – a most treacherous thing
The acrobats tumble across beds of nails
Trapeze artists regularly slip amid wails
There’s no net to catch them, so when they have fallen
for sweepers with hoses the master comes callin’
The freak show’s so real even grownups grow faint
There’s one star: it’s me, off my meds – fun, it ain’t
A banshee, a dervish, and funhouse in one
My bipolar circus has merely begun
© 2011 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Still following National Poetry Writing Month at Writer’s Island. Stumbled upon a prompt at Sunday Scribblings, “Design.” You can find this one at Poets United as well, along with many other poets.
Please feel free to comment with critiques if you wish – I really appreciate feedback. Thanks! Amy
Labyrinth
Delicate veins of climbing ivy
Creeping clematis and morning glory shaping
a heavenly, fenced-in fortress turned playground
“Come inside,” they whisper, voices of children.
“Linger awhile. You’re safe here.”
Yes, she thinks. I’ll stay in this haven
until I can make sense of things.
Safe from prying parents who
“only want to help you, honey…”
Yes, I’ll make myself scarce for a brief time-out.
Life is too confusing and no one understands.
Sounds easy, tempting, perhaps, to
hide in a high, wide, heather-rowed hedge
while hedging your bets.
Tracing paths within, flowers begin to
drop from their vines and rot
on the well-trodden, muddy path beneath.
The whispers have turned from beckoning sprites
to taunting, shrill fishwives.
She panics. Where am I now? And why are the voices
now vexing me with matters that do not concern them?
They speak of my secrets and shame and…
Soon time and the complexity of the maze
have overrun thoughts of escape, as isolation
becomes complete… an utter lack of options.
Vines twist around her neck, muting cries for help;
thorns pierce her flesh as morbid curiosity
secures another victim for The Labyrinth.
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
ABC Wednesday had us up to the letter “M,” while Three Word Wednesday‘s words were: Evident, Illusion, and Tragic. Here is an example of why we must always remember to tell our girls they are worthy and wonderful – and our boys, too. Amy
Megan’s Mind
Her illusion was her reality
That they stared at her in school
That every zit was a tragic flaw
That her muffin-top was the subject of gossip
She had never been kissed (not even at summer camp)
Mirrors served as evidence, judge, and jury:
She was a blight, a sight unworthy of the world
But she had no real friend to share the verdict with
The school was abuzz Monday morning
Why did Megan hang herself Saturday night?
© 2010 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sharp Little Pencil 