sen's blog
 
poems I've written, poems I haven't written but love, rare thoughts, and writing about writing.
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Moments in my day
Posted:Nov 21, 2021 6:41 am
Last Updated:Nov 27, 2021 10:22 am
547 Views

Moments in my day
written August 7th, 2021

1.
I wake
and look out the window
at the morning sun
shining through the leaves.

I look out the window again
and it is the dusk sky of day's end.
The day has gone somewhere
someone.

2.
I sit and stare out the
half-circle window.
Somehow I
have arrived here
so I stay.
I'm not sure
where or when I am.
I don't move.
I wait for someone
say it is ok
and hope
they don't notice
if it is not.

3.
I am writing
about touching a man.
I write: "I grab him by the...."
and stop to think about what word to write.
One of the others inside boisterously says
It's an ass, grab him by the ass
it can't be those other words,
grab him by the ass!

I blush and don't write
"bottom" or "tushy" or "buttocks"
I write: "I grab him by the ass."
The other is satisfied
and lets continue on my own.

4.
I am suddenly in the body.
I am in bed with a man.
The others don't let out
if it is dangerous,
so I smile and say "Hi."
He does sex things
and it does feel good, I think.
He has learned say,
"Are you ok?" every few minutes.
I say, "Yes, I'm ok."

5.
I look through my binder of poems.
I know it is writing here every single time.
I recognize the handwriting,
but even if it is dated yesterday
I don't remember writing the words.

6.
I am inside and hear
one of the others
I share this body with
giggle.
I come out note
that I do not giggle,
because I do not giggle!
Then I go back inside
letting the one who giggles
giggle and be herself
in the body we share.
6 Comments
The real me
Posted:Nov 17, 2021 4:18 pm
Last Updated:Nov 27, 2021 11:00 am
736 Views

The real me
written July 1st, 2021

I sit on a low bluff
looking out at the ocean in Goa
age 18 and away from home
for the first time.

I can see sitting beside me
a version of me who is
female - compassionate - loving
my skirts and my bangles
the anklets Shankar and Ana gave me
soft and round and surprised
I want to be intimate with a boy.
This is the real me.

I see sitting on the other side of me
another version of me
who is sure _they_ are the real me
male - logical - unemotional
calm under pressure.
My life is planned out
I will be an engineer like my uncle
interested in ideas and not people.
This is the real me.

Some "I"
sits on that low bluff
and sees both of us
for the first time
and it is a wonder.
There are no words for this yet
but these both are
the real me and in time
we will find more
of us.

This is the real me.
6 Comments
I want
Posted:Nov 16, 2021 6:18 am
Last Updated:Nov 17, 2021 12:52 pm
1254 Views

I want
written July 10th, 2020

I want blue skies
and sun on my face.

I want green plants
growing like crazy on the deck.

I want rooms full of books
like old friend and lovers.

I want someone
to wear perfume for at night.

I want to not be scared
lost in the past.

I want to be here now.

I want to always know
that I am home and whole.

I want all parts of me
to realize their dreams.

I want to be known.

I want to never stop wanting.

I want to want.

What do you want?
6 Comments
I don't want to
Posted:Nov 16, 2021 6:12 am
Last Updated:Nov 16, 2021 12:39 pm
789 Views

I don't want to
written March 14th, 2021

I don't want to
is the poem that doesn't want
to be written today
I don't want to
think write cry.

I look through
my unfinished notebook and
I don't want to
process revise reveal.
I don't want to!

I don't want to write
the same words
again and again
these same things
battering at my mind
day after day.

I don't want to pretend
everything is beautiful
just (pretend to) be happy.
I don't want
to be here lost in my head.

I don't want to
is the poem
that wants
to be written today.
4 Comments
Dark rocks
Posted:Nov 12, 2021 5:49 am
Last Updated:Nov 13, 2021 5:13 am
1115 Views
white clouds nesting dark rocks
Cold Mountain, The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain

Dark rocks
written November 7th, 2021

Dark rocks rest
in a river bed
as rushing water
froths white in agitation
over their dark peaceful presence.

Dark rocks steadfastly witness
fish tails flickering
velvet deer noses drinking
and cicadas singing
as the moon sets
and the sun rises.

Nothing is lost.
Nothing is wasted.
All is known and seen
somewhere
in the depths of a river
by dark rocks
resting.
3 Comments
together again
Posted:Nov 9, 2021 2:44 pm
Last Updated:Nov 11, 2021 7:02 am
1412 Views

the terrifying silence
crashes around
I'm afraid I will
be broken into pieces
that can't be put back
together again

I've done this before
pieced myself
together again
but I get so tired
of the fear that the
breaking will never end
5 Comments
Why there are cicadas - a tinnitus story
Posted:Nov 7, 2021 6:22 am
Last Updated:Nov 8, 2021 12:12 pm
1344 Views

Why there are cicadas - a tinnitus story
written November 1st, 2021

One day there was a small
who woke up in the night
to the sound of cicadas.
Her grown-up checks in on her.
The small doesn't talk very much.
She looks at the grown and rubs her ears.

Her grown-up asks, "Does the noise bother you?"
The small nods yes.
The small 's eyes ask...
Why is it there?
What does it mean?
Why does it never stop?

Her grown-up smiles and tells her...
Those are cicadas dear one
they knew that sometimes
you were lonely and afraid
so they came
hundreds of them
thousands of them
to keep you company
so you would never be alone.

If you wake
and wonder if you are safe
just listen for the cicadas.
I know they are loud sometimes
they just want to be sure
you know they are there
so relax in the sound
float in it knowing
you are not alone
and go back to sleep dear one.
8 Comments
Breathing space - poem and collage
Posted:Nov 4, 2021 12:39 pm
Last Updated:Nov 7, 2021 6:02 am
3380 Views
Breathing space
written November 3rd, 2021

Space stretches
into the distance
I send my breath
towards you

soft like a breeze
tickling your hair
embracing you
pooling around you
making this space

for you
to be
to rest
to feel peace
a breathing space.
13 Comments
I am not an apology
Posted:Nov 1, 2021 7:32 am
Last Updated:Nov 5, 2021 10:28 am
2901 Views

I am not an apology
started June 9th, 2021

I wanted this poem
to be a song declaring
that I am not an apology
but I am not there yet

I feel like something born then broken
spending my life apologizing
for not being able to fix myself
for not being what people wanted

Trying to stave off danger and hurt
I hurl apologies at the world
and the people in it.
I am sorry for being me.
.
.
.
One day
I want to stand here
in all my broken glory
for the world to see
and not apologize.
6 Comments
My own four experiences with holes
Posted:Oct 6, 2021 9:16 am
Last Updated:Oct 7, 2021 12:37 pm
3243 Views

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.

—Portia Nelson, "Autobiography in Five Short Chapters"

My own four experiences with holes
written October 5th, 2021

1.
I walk down a road
I fall into a hole
This happens a few times
I stop walking down roads.

2.
I get tired of being stuck in one place
I decide to try again.
I walk down a road
A different road than before
I know holes can happen
I keep my eyes on my feet
Just in case.

3.
I walk down roads
I carefully keep a list
of roads with holes
It is always in my mind
Is this a safe road?
Will it be safe today?

4.
I walk down a road with a friend
I forget to check if it's a safe road
We are talking and laughing
Then I realize
This is that very first road
the one with that big hole.

Did we not notice and walk around it?
Did we float over it?
Is the hole gone?
Will it come back?

So many questions.
All I really know is
I am grateful for
the moments of not worrying about holes
while laughing with a friend.

------
My thoughts about the poem:
The outline of the original poem was in the back of my mind. All I remembered was the holes and eventually going around them. I wrote mine and then read the original. The original is pretty wonderful. I love analogies and this one just suited me for some of my experiences with ptsd triggers.
6 Comments
my body
Posted:Sep 24, 2021 2:25 pm
Last Updated:Oct 4, 2021 6:25 pm
3356 Views

my body
written September 24th, 2021

My body has been
the enemy for too long
now I want
to touch
to feel
to be friends with it.

I take off my dress
and lay back on the bed
my hands touching
my belly
my breasts
my skin.

My body is an expert
at not feeling
but today
I feel.
I tell myself
over and over
it is safe
this is safe
you are safe.

I breath and relax
pulling my knees up
letting my legs fall open
my hips relaxing into the bed
just laying
with my hands
on my breasts
feeling the air from the ceiling fan
move over my pussy
safe in my body.

My fingers slowly explore
the outer lips
the sparse hair
the fleshy lips.
My hand cups
my pussy
my lips
my clit.

I lay there
feeling my hand
on my pussy.
I say to myself
it is enough
and it is.
5 Comments
good girl - first time masturbating
Posted:Sep 24, 2021 2:20 pm
Last Updated:Oct 8, 2021 3:13 pm
3400 Views

good girl - first time masturbating
written during
September 19th, 2021

I spread my legs for them, I feel shy, not used this. They sit quietly, not moving, and say, "Good girl."

I melt and have a physical response to those words. They smile at me, and wait.

I take a deep breath and lower my hand to my pussy. My fingers touch the lips, and again, they say, "Good girl."

I start to move my fingers, over my clit and lips, feeling the softness of the skin, the texture. Feeling the fine hair. I forget to watch them, as I get lost in my own pussy, until I hear them whisper, "Good girl."

Those words make my fingers press hard against my clit and they say, "Good girl, it is enough."
5 Comments
This body which is mine
Posted:Sep 14, 2021 3:55 pm
Last Updated:Sep 15, 2021 12:00 pm
4006 Views

In the cave of the ear, the bones, like stars
at the solstice, sit upright and still,
listening in on the air as the muscle and blood
listen in on the skeleton.

—Robert Bringhurst, "The Song of Ptahhotep," Gift of Tongues

This body which is mine
written June 1st, 2021

For too long
my body has listened for
phantom danger coming my way
my body tensed waiting.

Now I am training myself
to listen to the sound
of my solid solitary bones
the soft drumming of my blood
rushing and cresting
in the shores of my body.

I listen as my muscles
stretch and contract
moving lungs and limbs
part of the symphony
coordinated by my brain.

I listen to my body
and learn to hear the beauty
the coordinated song
of muscle and blood
bones and brain
wrapped in my soft skin
the miracle of this body
which is mine.
6 Comments

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