Mental Health

E.C.T. BEE FREE

She’s a lovable bundle of anxiety.
Thoughts like a cluttered
Chelsea Hotel room.
Awkward with a sizzle.
What is this divine activity?
Her buzzing daemons chattering above.
They’re winding her up.
Building in her an electrical current;
To feed her thoughts
That seldomly go array.
She needs to transcend out of this.
Needs a renewing mantra.
To dive into the alpha.
And awaken back into earthly arms.

Poem and Drawing: Naomi Ruth

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Mine Na 12.

Night of Plight

 

In September’s chambers
Where I stretch out
Cry out
Choke on life’s droplets
Feel the stabs across my chest
Of unquiet love, burned down to sorrow’s howl

Search for reasons in piled books
To be pulled up by fish hooks
Reclaim the joucned amygdala

But Lowell’s ungoverned course
Clings like black iron to my knife

I’m to blame
I sent the invite
And they dance around me
But never kindly touch me
They use magnets to pull from me
What they want
To spin it for their own glory dust
But tonight my back is turned
From these warm hosts
To lay once more with my little ghost

Photograph: Francesca Woodman   I could no longer play

Poem: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt

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Kryptonite

Beseech

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You’re the tiger eye to my wobbly mind.
A phenomena.
To teach me what I mouth on a pixelated spread.
And not just be another chalkboard poet.
You were the core to my apple.
The yin in my yang.

Before you all I knew was to forget, to stop asking, to stop tearing, and to bobble like drift-wood.
Abandoned symbolic punishment.
Trapped an alien connection, of what we said in the dark.
We found a common need.
When daylight came streaming in, duality, apparently.

You came to my rescue and built within me a honest temple.
Infused everything.
So where did all the magic go?
Must’ve palmed my ego too tightly.
And I was too eager to rise.
For the feast is tossed over cliff’s edge.

And my heart, like bruised blueberries scattered on the floor.
Somehow I’m back digging in the ruins. As the seeker surrounded, in bleeding hearts.

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Imprints: The Wild Edge of Sorrow

Imprints from the book: The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller

It was through the dark waters of grief that I came to touch my unlived life…There is some strange intimacy between grief and aliveness, some sacred exchange between what seems unbearable and what is most exquisitely alive. Through this, I have come to have a lasting faith in grief.

Our healing is in “every small contracting and expanding.”

A great read. For me, writing poetry is a way to exhale my sorrows. The grief still lingers but I’m not holding my breath with it. Yes, perhaps I’m addicted to this type of sadness, but I know what gifts it brings. I welcome it, for in all my days of sorrow, my heart has learn to surrender and I’ve found sweet serenity in doing this.

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Jay poem 6.

The Haunting of Soul Kitchen

That beautiful man sang            “Soul Kitchen.” How suitably sweet before our time. It brings me back to my cousin’s kitchen.

The feelings of JEALOUS RAGE and self-pity. For I did not join you in that mature circle. Left with kid brother, passed out on your green thumb ganja.

I sat in the living room pretending to protect him, but I was intending to protect myself. Self-persecution my lingering demon.

Do, Do you see what I mean?  For big sister was seductive as ever! You, You cautious but ever so nicely listened a lot…For she talked a lot. When I hear her say, “Do you want some?” You must’ve all been drinking darjeeling tea with your hypnotic weed.

While I lied on my belly, for my back was jittery from the paper I ate. As I gazed at Morrison Hotel, it was then that I felt you in that room— we called a living room.  No, No it was my breathing room! A haven of my own. Where you tore into my cunt, and Yes, Yes I let you! Only that time I was grounded to something true and entirely ours. For the night before, you pushed my back into the floor, and the day after I learned to forget the pain. I pushed up cobra style without a wince, to show that I had a strong back and I could take it anyway and anyhow you gave it. Why did I ignore your look? Because— Why, Why? I was a sad child in the anxious seat of love! Yes, Yes love! My mind screaming this as you retreated.

Since then, I allowed fierce turmoil to take hold of my heart. I allowed you to be stuck. In that Kit,Kitchen… alone, with maggots and chrome gadgets. Forever, under a fucking magnet! How, How to get you out?  Either…fear no more, what haunts beyond my breathing room.                                                        Or repeat, Learn to forget, learn to forget, learn to forget, learn to forget…(Jim Morrison)

Words: Na-omi S.                        Photo: Francesca Woodman appropriated and altered                     Music: The Doors

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