pacing the packed floors
of my crowded mind
I find voices that are
not my own
longing to be guided to
their own resting places
how did they get here
when will they leave
someone outside of my
body shouts
“YOU SHOULDN’T ASK QUESTIONS YOU DON’T
WANT THE ANSWERS TO!”
and I instantly sit back
in my ergonomics swivel
chair and shut up
I’m dealing with my therapist’s retirement announcement in my own way. I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m so hopeful for her future. I wish her well, too.
But I am not looking forward to the search that is before me for a new one.
And so, I’m writing poetry about it. Of course, I am. Of course, I am.
Originally shared via Instagram.
I posted my last piece on Medium for the time being. I am sharing that same piece here as well.
I want to say I am moving through every day without problems. I want to say I am moving through every day without pain. I want to say . . . I am moving through every day without leaning into the fears that stare at me at every turn. The truth is . . . I am hanging on by a string.
Every day, there is a new form of pain to sort through. As soon as I have made my way past that form of pain, there is one waiting just at the edge of my uneven breaths for me to fight as well.
I am not alone in this. I know. The world is steadily crumbling around us and fire and brimstone are piquing at their hottest points. When human beings choose between whom they can lend their empathy to, the world is already at its end.
I do not condone any form of violence taking place at home (in the US) or abroad. I also hate that our tax dollars are being used to fund what I believe is a nonsensical massacre at large, with no apparent end in sight, and authoritative figures bent on greed and boosted by their egos will be our downfall.
I am thumbing through and clicking on so many news sites and platforms of educated people honed in on what’s happening. However, I am also questioning many trusted sources, too.
When I read phrases like, “What we know,” I am moved to pause. Do we really know this? How do we know this? Who found out the information and when? Who have we paid for the facts and why? When will this senseless bloodshed end?
Below are a few key points taken from NBC News:
What we know
Israeli officials sent tanks and infantry into Gaza overnight, where they remained Saturday. Officials said that with the air and ground campaign, the “ground shook in Gaza.”
Most communication in Gaza has been knocked out, and U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres said it is “facing a total collapse with unimaginable consequences for more than 2 million civilians.”
Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu warned that a long and difficult war awaits.
More than 7,000 people, including women and children, have died in Gaza, according to Palestinian health officials. In Israel, about 1,400 people have died.
At least 229 people were taken hostage during the Oct. 7 terrorist attack — including infants and young children.
NBC News’ Richard Engel, Raf Sanchez, Kelly Cobiella, Josh Lederman, Matt Bradley, Ellison Barber, Meagan Fitzgerald, Jay Gray, Hala Gorani, Chantal Da Silva and Alexander Smith are reporting from the region.
When we assess the numbers, what more does Israel want? How much more can the US benefit from the atrocities occurring? Because be very aware, the head officials are benefiting from this.
When I read the following from CBS News:
Hundreds of demonstrators from a Jewish activist group made their way into Grand Central Terminal’s main concourse and staged a sit-in during rush hour.
The group, Jewish Voice for Peace, demanded a ceasefire in Gaza on a day Israeli military forces increased incursions.
It also led me to the Instagram page of the Jewish Voice for Peace to watch a clip of their demonstration while they were all either being handcuffed or handcuffed. The chant, “What do we want?” “Ceasefire!” “When do we want it?” “NOW!” will stay with me for many weeks to come, perhaps months — maybe years.
Police officers arrested 200 protestors for this cause. 200!!! For what? Freedom of Speech? This doesn’t exist anymore and really, maybe it never did.
As all numbers relating to this event continue to spike, I blink my eyes, and the Democratic Republic of Congo is dealing with its plight. Death seems to be what’s on the menu of late. And it’s only going to get worse before an inkling of betterment arrives.
To tune out the world around me, I am reading. I am writing. I have begun a new shift at work, which allows me more time in the morning to meditate, cook a hearty breakfast, and go for longer walks by myself or with Jernee. I am finding things to keep my mind busy and preoccupied with peace.
There has to be balance.
Currently, I am reading, Afeni Shakur: Evolution of a Revolutionary by Jasmine Guy. When I am done with it, I will begin, In Search of a Salve: Memoir of a Sex Addict by K. E. Garland. After those two, I will begin POISE: Facing Cancer with Grace and Resilience by Gail Boenning.
Earlier today, I watched Sister Death on Netflix, and the similarities between this movie shook me versus the constant turmoil in the world today.
Sister Narcisa felt the torture and pain that layered the halls of the convent from buried secrets from the other sisters years before her arrival. Raping, pillaging, and the deaths of women and children occurred during a war that befell their country’s doorstep rise to the surface in her presence.
After a miraculous childhood, Narcisa becomes a novice and starts teaching girls in a former convent haunted by a disturbing presence. — Netflix
The ending left me with my mouth agape and my heart aching for what Sister Narcisa had to experience to uncover the truth. What will we have to do to uncover the truths of this shaken-up world?
There is a time for reflection and a time for truth-seeking. There is a time for peace and a time for meditation. There is a time for love and a time for allyship and solidarity. Could it be we’re all see-sawing through every event of such times cyclically without our knowledge?
I woke up this morning a bit off-kilter with my emotions all over the place.
It’s been stressful at work of late, and I’ve been processing a lot from last year and simply trying to move through everything without completely breaking down.
I haven’t been too successful, but that’s only because I’m stubborn, and I’ve had to be shown I need to take more time away from work.
So feeling all that I’m feeling and knowing I wouldn’t be able to provide my job with 100% of me today, I am taking an FMLA day, and I intend to rest my mind, body, and soul.
Coincidentally, I learned it is World Mental Health Day today. God is always trying to tell us something.
World Mental Health Day (10 Oct) is a day to talk about mental health and show everyone that mental health matters. It’s also a day to let people know that it’s okay to ask for help, no matter what you’re going through.
—Mental Health Foundation
As the theme of World Mental Health Day highlights, ‘mental health is a universal human right’. That’s why at Mental Health Foundation, we’re dedicated to addressing the inequalities in mental health and working towards good mental health for all, not just for some.
If you need this day, please take it. Do not be like me and wait until you’re nearly bursting at the seams from built-up pain and anguish.
Be good to you today.
Peace and blessings.
Single, Black, independent bi-women hear voices, too.
Beatrice is a 36-year-old charge nurse in the OR for St. Agnes Memorial Hospital in Blue Lake Falls County. She is a sufferer of migraines, a prisoner to insomnia, and a magnet for bowed-leg men who don’t know any better.
On the eve of her fifth anniversary of work, she began reminiscing about Mike. Mike with the double-dimpled cheeks, endless credit line, and badass walk. But . . . he was a stranger to commitment.
Why is it Mike?! Why would she think about him after the way he left things between them?
He still has two bags of clothing and a pair of shoes in my closet! The nerve of that man! He was supposed to come and get this shit months ago.
She looks around her somber bedroom for clues. Did he leave anything else? No. Just his voice.
And his voice, along with that of Charlie and Omaira’s, seemed to play hopscotch in her mind multiple times per day.
Charlie scooped her heart right from her chest, licked the pain away that surrounded it, and added more. Intentionally or unintentionally, she still isn’t sure.
Omaira had been a woman she met through a mutual friend (let’s call her Sydnee), who thought she would like to try something different. And “different” was perfect for her for five years.
Until it wasn’t. Omaira gave Beatrice one last orgasm before stealing her vintage jewelry, three pairs of costly heels, and the spare key to her car. The car — she had taken to a local chop shop. Easy money.
She wouldn’t find out Omaira had been battling kleptomania until weeks later. She spins the thought of it around in her head once again.
How does one spend five years with someone and still not know them?!
She hated this quality of hers; the knowing and unknowing of things she so casually continued to do. She wanted to hear something else. Anything other than their voices.
Needless to say, these were people she shouldn’t be thinking about, but she was. And isn’t that how love is sometimes?
It sneaks up on us in one of its best disguises, lures us in, carves out a piece of our heart, and then exits stage left — leaving us limp-lipped and unamused.
The alarm clock screeches. It is 06:00 AM. Another night without sleep. Another night without rest.
Originally published in Prism & Pen via Medium.
A Cornered Gurl 
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