Tag: #Blog for the Facebook Group UNDEFEATED

The name of the game is help and heart. Though this group was born from my healing from abuse, it is not only for abuse survivors. If you have ever felt down and out emotionally, spiritually, intellectually, financially, or in any way, we want this group to be your first resort. The Undefeated Group has become a close knit family. Even as our group membership increases, we honor the individuality and wonderful qualities of each member. The group is not about you or me; rather, it is about us.

She Fills Me Up

Away above the clouds she dwelled

until slumber I took.

In her left hand, she grasped a plain, wooden bowl

In her right, an ornate, porcelain vase.

In dark, I slept in terrors as her lengthy arms fell from the sky

Grasping the bowl down my throat, she scooped me out.

Misery, we shared.

But, as the day began to creep back in,

her magical potions of clear, cool water caressed me through with joy and jubilation. Dig me deep and fill me up, my wise, wizened Mother.

Is it the left hand or the right tonight?

Like every night, it’s both.

Acid in my Drink

I drank a cup of poison today

opened her up and slewed her down.

And, all of the folk who wished me harm,

regretted there wishes and were over come with a mass of frowns.

I said I drank a cup of poison today

would have eaten it if I could

But, I knew that drink was all my tummy would take,

Otherwise, gnashing I would.

You drank some, too, my dear ones

And, agreed that it’s better than guns…

except in a true duel

I was Eight

Cannot breathe

Sheets smell of a two day continuous fart gala

Eeeww!…He flicked a booger on me that he had balled up like a balloon.

I have become a waste can for fresh, newly picked boogers.

How do you get raped while the rapist picks his nose?

You remember the punishment that will befall you next time Mom and dad are away.

Between the tears and his sweat your Tweey Bird nightie is drenched and a full breath is impossible.

He’s so scrawny yet feels like a boulder on your chest.

Rolling off of me, he does a gymnastic type dance and is on the floor.

“Get out of my bed, slut” he remarks in a sneering yet comical way,

but you can still get the hint that he means business.

I was eight.

Crying Mary

She’s a no good harlot!

She’s possessed with evil intent.

She paints her face and wears improper clothes.

But, the winds scream Mary.

Why is she this way?

No one but she and her God know what happened to her.

One act of kindness from the Right Person-

She is healed.

And, the wind whispered Mary

My Catholic named is Mary Magdalene.

I know her pain and see through the lies.

Her invisible scars speak to me.

And, I cry MARY!

*giant nod to Jimi

Smoke on the Horizon

Curling my fingers around you like a Twizzler in my hand,

Chewing off the top and bottom carefully as not to be noticed.

A deep inhale brings a sigh of relief and a pang of worry.

You infiltrating my lungs as if long lost friends,

Sighing out the vapor is bittersweet-I don’t want to say goodbye but I want to say hello again and again and again…

How will I stop;

When will it end?

My Mother the Sea Skirting Nymph

Long before she lost her leg,

before five-year-old me scratched her cornea,

before she had her cancerous breast removed,

Mom was a water ballerina.

When our family went on vacation to Sanibel- back before it became trashy and shark ridden,

Mom would put on her simple bathing suit from last year and the one before that and the one before that and so on.

Next, she would put in her weighted fake boob and something was lost from her sparkle.

Then, unable to swim because of all of these stupid things,

she would walk miles up and down the beach collecting sea shells.

As a child, I thought it was her passion.

A shell hard to be unique and lovely in any form to go in Mom’s bucket.

So, day by day, morn til you couldn’t see your hand it was so dark, Mom would trudge the beach always looking out for jellyfish though I am sure dad would have urinated on her.

Mom , barefoot, would dance with the ocean.

Sometimes, a cha cha…other times a fox trot,

but they all seemed a lustful waltz to an 8 year-old me.

Later, in the condo, the two of us would go through her finds!

I loved the spiral ones, because I could hear the ocean I had been swimming in all day.

Mom listened to all of the sea shells

I tried it, too, but heard nothing.

I told Mom she was being silly with me, but she swore she wasn’t.

She’ll after shell, she laid back and listened to her lover’s call.

But, I heard nothing at all.