To Every Woman – Reaching Joy (poetry, and other writings)

Skills. Not then.

Shame. A sin.

God still peering over my shoulder

Memory abounds. I do not go closer.

Body tenses. Don’t you feel it?

I challenge myself to move in;

I know I need it.

Oh…the confusion, the pain, the anxious heart

I did not see screams out in my face, draws it back—

“What a disgrace!” an old man told me.

I listen to music that taps the memory

Opens up enough to let me be with the tension

In my throat, drawn back hither. I smile at a stranger

And get only a waver. Oh, the stories my throat

Would tell me; Oh, the shame under my shell,

Would you believe humans are not inherently flawed?

That god lived in the soil as well as television rods?

My heart remembers, anxiety will beat through

Another emotion riding the tide, blue skies glide by

On borrowed timed, set the pace, flow the rhymes.

The body is a reaction course. Pay attention.

Cause and effect. The brain. Associations.

The shame-talking man sometimes lives in my eyes,

Anxiety flows to the other side

It’s not meant to hide — it’s a message from the creator

And when trauma arises, remember to be with her.

The woman you are, stand near her. Even alone,

you are neither your thoughts nor your feelings

Both older than words. You are healing.

You remind her,

“You are of wise, Earth kin.

It is safe, this body I am in.”

May 16, 2020

for more from this deep feeling sharer, click on over: https://reachingjoythree.wordpress.com/

Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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