My Teddy Bear and I

I have a pink, Teddy bear,

I hold her close and tight,

To comfort her from memories

Of days gone by and fright.

She needs the comfort of my arms,

I hold her close, you see,

To keep her safe from all alarm,

To know she’s safe with me.

She isn’t able on her own

To settle down in peace.

She needs the comfort of my arms,

In slumber, to release.

Her memories are different

Than mine would ever be.

I can’t believe the things she says,

It never would be me!

And yet, my body says a lot,

With frightened feelings, too,

And then I hold my Teddy bear

And tell her, “I love you!”

The wounds and fears, the great big tears,

The little ones, as well,

The scary thoughts that come our way,

That drag us right through hell,

Remain no longer buried deep,

But move along to find

The way back from the recesses,

From deep within our mind.

I wonder if the things she feels

Will ever feel like I,

Right now I cannot fathom them,

Nor see them with my eye.

No matter what tomorrow brings,

My bear and I will try,

Together to become as one,

One person, she and I.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Frozen in FEAR, Once Again

The door SLAMMED

and, once again,

the young child

froze   

in

fear

not knowing

what would happen next,

anticipating

shouting, yelling,

penetrating reprimands,

a cold shoulder with frozen silence,

sharp eyes of disapproval,

permeating everywhere,

filling her heart with

overwhelming terror,

leaving no room

for love,

mistakes, accidents,

or immaturity,

always promising disapproval,

sporadic expressions of love,

and the hopelessness of

never being fully accepted,

as her little,

immature

self,

but rather

annihilated,

in spirit,

once

again.

Years later,

she didn’t know,

if the wind had

blown the door shut,

or a person had shut it,

accidentally loud,

without malice or ill intent,

but she froze,

out of habit,

accepting

the blame

and subsequent

shame,

as her own,

once

again,

until

her body began

to release those

old, old feelings,

turbulent, at times,

and, then, as a

cleansing

wave

washing

her soul.

Precious Linda, c.2013

I Was Raised to Be a Clone

I was raised to be a clone

with no sense of self,

like an appendage,

controlled by another.

Anything that didn’t measure up

to their beliefs, ways, or thoughts

was quickly smashed,

along with me.

I was never free

to become

uniquely

me,

in

their

presence.

And now,

I still have memories

of the pain of being

different and not

measuring up,

of needing

to be

exactly

the

same.

I’ve tried to blend in,

chameleon-like,

but that is death to me.

My sense of self

comes creeping up,

like a shadow coming alive,

but then, I become afraid

and try to stomp it out,

just like what

was done

to me.

I don’t want to be a murderer,

but I am so afraid,

that if I am so different,

I will be rejected,

again and again,

as I have been,

from time immemorial.

I’m continually told,

I should be different,

fit this mold,

or else,

I will not love you,

I will not be with you,

I will not talk to you,

I will not hug you.

Apparently,

the choice

to be

me

is

very,

very,

very

lonely.

Precious Linda, c. 2013

Safe Am I

Cloaked and hidden,

enshrouded with fears,

tears locked up,

unknown for years

Body shaking,

beginning to cry,

tears overflowing,

not knowing why

Memories surface,

exposing deep pain,

beginning to feel,

sorrows and shame

Feel the feelings

let them flow,

freely like waves,

then, let them go

Freed, once again

to smile, until

a trigger erupts

another minefield

Will this pain

ever come to an end,

or, will it repeat

again and again?

Knowing I have been

through this before,

I know how to ride

the waves once more.

Courageously, I face the pain,

wave upon wave rolls by,

old, buried feelings pass

once again. Safe am I.

Precious Linda, c. 2013