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Just Not ReadyEvery time I think of you I feel happy.
When I see you I feel comfortable.
But when I hold you I feel safe.
When I hold you I cry, I smile, I remember.
My whole life you have never let me down.
Family threw me away but you stood your ground.
When I was angry, sad or happy you stuck around.
Never judging me you were always ready for hugs, tears and secrets.
Oh my teddy, my best friend, I'm still not ready to let you go!
Book Review Emotional FitnessTitle: Emotional Fitness: Discovering our Natural Healing Power
Author: Janice Berger and Harry Hall
Genre: Self Help
The author of Emotional Fitness seems to have made it into more than just a publication. She has made cds, hosts workshops and seminars and counsels people through their own healing. Her website
(http://www.janiceberger.com/) has wonderful information about the process to healing ourselves. Janice Berger is considered to be a pioneer off Deep Emotional Therapy and has been counselling for over 30 years.
Janice Berger co-authored Emotional Healing with Harry Hall who has been practicing Deep Emotional Therapy for over 20 years. Harry trained in the psychiatric practice of the late Dr. L. Macintosh here in Toronto.
To best review this book I began looking at the sections. The introduction to this book is filled with powerful emotions. The author has openly shared her pain with the reader in order to allow them feel more comfortable with their own past
AngerBubbling, boiling anger
Pushing at the brim
Ready to burst over
To all's chagrin
Silent or Not?Is silence truly the answer?
Some say that silence is strength.
Some believe it is weakness.
To be silent and feared,
or to be silent and walked on?
Which seems more likely?
I keep silent and am lost in concerns.
I keep silent and am abused.
I keep silent and die inside from my pain.
I speak up and stand tall.
I speak up and am known.
I speak up and am seen.
I am silent and no one knows me.
I am silent and everyone fears me.
I am silent and no one remembers me.
I say my piece and am considered.
I speak my mind and am liberated.
I share my emotions and I am freed.
To be silent and feared
or silent and abused?
To speak and be hated
or speak and be heard?
To be me or to please
others who think they know best?
No Notes?You sad I left no notes
But did you read my poetry?
I had tried to tell you,
How, when and where I'd be going.
Instead you ignored me.
You claimed I would be fine.
You never understood,
I already was gone.
CharlieBending metal around your heart,
hoping molten melting doesn't start.
You ebb and flow with the tide,
hiding solely behind your pride.
Air helps blow emotions away,
that the walls never fail, you pray.
Missing is the flame that drives,
gives the fire to fight and thrive.
That fire may give meaning to your life,
possibly ending pain, anger, loss and strife.
The Boy Who Wouldnt EatIf you can flutter
I have failed you,
for you were not forged
to be so insubstantial as that
You were writ
to be an epic fable
of endings ignored,
of outlasting your body
through the sheer will
of a writers starving heart
through a broken, bowed
but bravely abiding body
that fights the soul
to comprehend Beauty.
................written in a frenzy and run-on
and exclamation points
used in rapid succession
words all blurred
so bare bones it's bloody
strung out and on display
in a frightening combination
of paragraphs and stanzas
punctuation gone mad
ellipses my new black
used and abused
then spit out
in gratuitous repetition
there is no word count here
no hearts dotting the i's
just a string of letters
done up in cursive
but not very pretty at all
Five AMPre-dawn darkness again, seething, quiet
A monster hugging the city
How heavy, how suffocating it is
The clock has run down on time for dreaming
A void between night and morning
Ready to swallow everything up
A time for old men's reflections
On love, and loss, and sorrow
Oppressive black sky, you eat everything
But the all-night diner
Where lonely old men sit
Drinking coffee at five AM
QuicksandYou trapped me
Dragged me below the surface
And held me there
You chained me
Put brass around my ankles
And left me struggling
You broke me
Beat me with whips made of hate
And hurt me more
You changed me
Made me who you wanted
And killed me inside
You hid me
Stole me away from the light
And made me blind
You crushed me
Blew my dust in the wind
And danced on my grave
surrounding my body
And now I'm twenty feet under
With no chance of being saved
Sound PoemIthrumden, ithrumden delsum
nith mul thruss elmrissull.
Eth rut mundelliss
Curmiette dessel renrin
irme trell ithrumden.
The partyFlashing lights
Smoke all around
About to pass out
My head starts to hurt
I can't take this anymore
So without saying anything
I find the exit
And escape that place
"How can someone have fun in there?"
Coming HomeComing down the ramp I spotted you in the crowd
Your tenderloin skin always stands out
Your aura was particularly bright that day
Whirling dervish colors in the pale sun
You wore a chauffeurs cap and held a sign that said “Anyone”
I knew that I wasn’t anyone, so I walked away
“Strange days,” someone said, and I agreed
I hate crowds and old garbled memories
Arriving home, my wife and cat didn’t recognize me
I looked in the mirror and noticed that I was someone else
Still carrying my old baggage, I turned away
I should have taken your limo
~days eat days
like I eat potato chips
on a couch whose
springs have thrown out
their backs no longer able
to hold even the remote up.
it sinks between the seats like
I do every lonely saturday night
or every evening I can’t quite
make it to bed, cupped with
similar back problems,
a similar sag.
I’ve begun to
take after my furniture.
"the only unattractive curve,"
a girl once said to me with a few
desirable curves herself,
"is the one a person develops
in their back.”
we dated for a month and
she called me her
hunchback of notre dome
(it’s dame, babe.)
and I called her beautiful.
and nothing else.
but somehow her leaving did nothing
to straighten my bent back but
only managed to deepen
my parenthetical stance on
those who love me
(they don’t exist).
things i cannot doi cannot sleep
and most certainly stay asleep-
with the black edged creatures
trembling at the corners
to trap me in tendrils of nightmare,
i shift too emptily for peace.
i cannot brave an appointment
i need hands to hold
this broken ship
caught in the waves with no crests.
i forget about the things i love,
but things i hate include
how i am haunted everyday
how i cannot seem
to call him by name
or directly address him-
there is no "you"
in my words,
only fear and flashbacks.
i cannot leave an unfinished crossword out of my thoughts
just like a relationship that had tapered off;
i cannot let go of things that have melted into my grip;
i cannot break a heart
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More