Monthly Archives: March 2014

Days like this

Sometimes it is not easy,

To be alive

When bodies creak and stick like rusting broken hinges
Sharp edges that threaten your tactile senses
When depression creeps under the covers,
A constant companion from the moment you wake
When your pennies cannot feed you and poverty creates in you a criminal
When opportunity sits appraising your value like some casted off thing
in a pawn shop
And death seems like a mercy.

Until you go for a walk just before dusk and watch the sunset
And remember that you are magical.
Remember that your hands are the bandagers of skinned knees and your arms are a refuge for the fallen
Remember that your eyes see the suffering hidden under the surface
and your mouth bears witness to injustice
You, are a truth teller.  A change maker.  A warrior.  A queen.  A safe place.  A kindness.
A hot meal to the starving.  A salve for the wounded.

You are a miracle.

Pink clouds of golden light touch your face and whisper lovingly,
The earth will never fail to hold you up and the sky goes on forever,
like breathing

 

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Apathetic Warcry

The apathy shuffles in like a zombie
A second skin, that begins to coat your mind
with its poison
Greasy
and yet weighted like lead,
And no one notices that your eyes are dead

Trapped in a powerless paralysis
Unable to think your way out
Tortured by  a disease inside your mind
That no one will understand so just say,
I’m fine and you?

Desperate for someone to blame
you eye the girl with chipped nailpolish  and downcast eyes
the one who prefaces your truth
with an apology

She wears your name like shapeless wool sweater
pulling the collar down and away from her skin
Agitated by the way it itches

In dr’s offices she is genuinely apologetic, and appropriately ashamed
Of her ‘Condition’
Particularly when reminded of how inconvenient she is.

She is a good girl.  She does what she is told.
Wears her diagnostic label like a sash in the mental illness pageant
For their consideration

And

You

Don’t

Forgive

Her

Compliance

Blame is easier.
than living with your face,
cracked open
like a river dam

Broken.

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inner conflict

Challenging the Stigma of Mental Health: Activism Through Art

painting

I will performing pieces on mental illness and art as activism at an upcoming community showcase.  Details Below:
FB Event Page: https://www.facebook.com/events/543665889064950/

Challenging the Stigma of Mental Health: Activism Through Art is a performance based event that will introduce different art forms of social activism that speak to issues surrounding mental health.

March 24, 2014 from 4:30-7pm
120 Duke Street W. Kitchener, ON Room 108

Featuring Special Guests:
Poet – Luscious Revelation (Sunna Murphy)
Belly Dancer – Willow (Joscelyn Guindon)
Painter – Michelle Hayes

There will be raffle prizes to give away at the event, with two GRAND PRIZES being ONE MONTH PREMIUM ADULT MEMBERSHIPS to the YMCA! The YMCA is a charitable organization that aims to promote health and wellness by engaging the body, mind & spirit. Find out more info, including facility schedules at: www.arkfamilyy.ca (Kitchener location) or www.storkfamilyy.ca (Waterloo location)

Each grand prize valued at over $70.00!

There will also be snacks… And admission is FREE! Please feel free to invite your friends, this event is open to the community!

 

Body landscape

tumblr_m5so7efEvN1qedotto1_500

As a thin woman, I didn’t know what it felt like to have a body
My arms swung freely unaware of their surrounding geography
My thighs, seperated by that infamous canyon
were unaccquainted with each other.

But when there is a mountain range in the centre of your country,
You cannot help but notice the change in gravity,
Air pressure building, feeling the incline, that swells as you ascend

Heavy breasts make for themselves a home, in the crook of my elbows,
Accustoming my arms to their presence
Constant companions, offering their ample form
To soften my sharp thoughts.

I am guided to take hold of this body, lifting and moving its fat,
like bread dough in the hands of a baker.
Learning its mysteries in ways that are not possible
When you use a spoon, instead of your hands.

I Spread out in all the ways that feel good to move, getting flour on my nose.
No longer seeking to pound it flat,
Overworking my form and obliterating the sweetness of its authentic taste,
I Embrace the grandness of this being
Rather than grieving the loss of the fragile, goose-fleshed, exposed ribs of my youth.

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.