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~ When life doesn't turn out as you had hope it would – It may not be 100% factual truth-but, it is 100% me.

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Tag Archives: Poetry

Poem – May 16, 1998 (17 yrs old)

15 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by Heather Irwin in All Posts, Seeking Life Now

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17, 1998, Alone, Depressed, Depression, High School, Misunderstood, Poem, Poetry, Searching

Alone
She lies on her floor writing
Poetry
for no one but herself.

Upset
She does not know who she is
Frustrated
there is not a soul who can tell her.

People
They confuse her more and
Crush
her spirit.

Two
Hearts she is supposed to have
Learning
to handle one has been hard enough.

Who
Will rescue her and help her to surface?
Why
is her question for everything.

Misunderstood
By everyone known and unknown
Despised
by no one but herself.

Depressed
By poetry that gets her nowhere

searching.

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The Thorn in Her Side – A Poem

09 Wednesday May 2018

Posted by Heather Irwin in All Posts, Seeking Life Now

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1998, 2001, Childhood, Healing, History, Journals, life, Poetry, Raw, Reflections, sexual abuse, Sexual Assault, Teenage Years, Truth, Writinig

I spent some time reading-through two of my old journals tonight. I found a journal entry from December 4, 2001 that piqued my interest. Once again, it reminds me of something I could have written yesterday, because of how familiar it is and how applicable to my current state:

December 4, 2001 (21 yrs old)

Sometimes when I sit down to write in my journal it is very difficult to know what to write and where to begin. I am sure that my journals are some of the most strange, inconsistent journal writings ever recorded. But, it serves its purpose for me.

***
I thought that this entry was particularly interesting, given the fact that I had begun this evening’s readings with a few poems in a previous journal that are very raw and unpolished.

In my previous post, I commented that I was going to start with bones – bare, naked and vulnerable, and this poem is just that.

NOTE: This poem could be triggering to those who have experienced the trauma of sexual abuse – if you are concerned for yourself, please do not read further.

 

 

The Thorn in Her Side _- June 12, 1999 (18 yrs old)

A little girl,
Unsure and frightened.
Unknowing and trusting
Of those around her.
They are older and wiser
And she should be able to
Trust them.

One night
A friend
Took advantage
Of that small
Trusting
Child.
Stripped her of innocence.
She stood naked for the entire
World to see.

She felt it was wrong,
But did not know
What do do
What was happening?

Ashamed of letting her
Brother hear.
What if he knew?
He would tell and she would be
In trouble.

Closing her eyes
She attempts sleep
But she feels
Restless
Scared
Ashamed
And sleep won’t come.

Curling into a fetal position
Longing
For the safety of her mother
She hears herself
Screaming
Yet knows that she makes no sound.

As the tears stream down her
Rosy cheeks
Soaking the pillow where
They land
She eventually drifts away into
A deep
deep
Deep
Peaceful
Sleep.

When she wakes the next morning
She remembers it as a
Haunting dream
And shoves it –
Violently
To the back of her mind.

But the seed had been
Planted
And it would soon become a huge
Thorn
In her side.

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In My Room

06 Wednesday Apr 2016

Posted by Heather Irwin in All Posts, Seeking Life Now

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Creativity, Imagination, Inside Out, life, Lisa Loeb, Memory, Nostalgia, Poetry, Reading, The Knack, Tracy Chapman

*

When I was a little girl, I truly lived in a wonderland that was my brain.

When I close my eyes and picture myself in my bedroom, a million stories and memories wash-over me and I am instantly nostalgic for the wondrous worlds in which I once lived.

I can see myself:

– 16 years old, with window wide-open on a cold, winter’s day, room temperature lingering somewhere around 60 degrees Fahrenheit, listening to a Mark Pinkus album (piano music) on my cassette player, room extremely organized and tidy, lying on my bed writing.

– 12 years old, cuddled-up on an old arm chair I had in my room for a time, eating a concoction of microwaved marshmallows, chocolate chips and butter while watching “Fievel Goes West” or “WKRP in Cincinnati”

– 13 years old, trying to clean and organize a messy, disastrous, room while listening to the “Reality Bites” soundtrack, rewinding “Stay” by Lisa Loeb over and over and over again while singing at the top of my lungs. Eventually, I give-up on cleaning and go-about creating interesting outfits from my wardrobe. I pluck-out a floral peasant dress, leggings, black Doc. Martens and a jean jacket, sit at my desk and start to sketch different fashion ideas and outfits. Maybe I’ll be a fashion designer one day.

– 11 years old, NKOTB posters plastering my walls, wearing lots of neon, a bucket full of empty peanut shells before me as I continue to shell and eat peanut after peanut while listening to “How to Eat Fried Worms” on book tape.

– 10 years old, watching “The Sound of Music” while I cleaned the giant china cabinet that my Mom had brought with us when we moved-in with my Stepdad, and had been stored in my room, pretending that I was a cleaning lady working at the house of some wealthy, handsome, romantic man.

– 15 years old, baritone in lap, music stand in front of me, practicing scales, arpeggios, exercises, and songs until my lips began to tingle. Dreaming of being a famous musician and picturing myself as an older lady, still playing the baritone, and extremely fulfilled with my life.

– 18 years old, crying. Sad. Alone. Depressed. Lying on my bed in a dimly lit room, writing even darker poetry in my journals while listening to “At This Point in My Life” by Tracy Chapman on repeat.

– 8 years old , lying on the floor with my Children’s Worldbook Encyclopedias strewn-out on the floor in front of me as I researched the solar system and geology and created little ‘homework projects’ and assignments for myself. Eager to learn, to soak-up information, create work of which I could be proud, and trying to achieve a goal of doing a project about every subject contained therein.

All of these moments, and so many more, come to life in my mind when I think of them. I was so consumed in whatever I was doing at the time. I don’t know if it’s the nostalgia or just how my imagination works, but these seemingly normal moments in my life all hold massive amounts of emotion, thought, feeling, and emotional pull to them.

I have recently watched the movie “Inside Out” and I wonder if the reason that these memories have such a strong place in my memory and bring with them all the things mentioned above is because, for whatever reason, these are “core memories”. I have always pictured my brain as a large filing room full of shelves, cabinets, boxes, safes and file folders. When I have to remember something, my mind actually has a whole system of locating where the information was stored and, depending on which part of storage area it is in, a different way it is kept, retrieved and opened. So, I really dug the “Inside Out” perspective.

For some reason, these memories of me in my old bedroom, all had a deep impact on my development. I think-back to each of these moments as ‘special moments in time’. There is a file in my brain that ‘pings’ every time I pull one of these memory files from the archives.

I refer to a few of these memories at times I need to “go to my happy place”. I will close my eyes, feel the cold breeze coming through my window, the smell of fresh, winter air, the sound of piano music in the background, the organization and cleanliness of a bright room and the soft, warm, blankets on my bed and feel instantly relaxed.

Or, I will close my eyes, hear “My Sharona” playing in the background, see a flutter of creative outfit ideas and designs around my room, experience the thrill of originality once again, and come out of it inspired and energized.

I guess I still have moments like this when I’m in my room. They happen less often as I am married, so share the space, have a child, and often don’t spend much time in there when not sleeping or cleaning.

But, I still have those moments when I feel totally present in the moment and I wonder if I will be looking-back on these moments in 20 years and feeling the same way I do now about the things that happened in my room.

*

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Aotearoa

29 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by Heather Irwin in All Posts, Seeking Life Now

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Aotearoa, Cicadas, Dreams, Flax, Home, Maori, New Zealand, Poem, Poetry, Sea

Aotearoa

Land of the long, white, cloud

Your mountains beat in my heart

While your rivers course through my veins.

I can’t sleep tonight, I lie awake thinking of you.

Dear land that earned my love.

You gently wooed me with your subtle charms.

I close my eyes and I can hear the cicadas beating their rhythmic percussions.

The salty smell of sea mixes with the earthy tones of flax and rises through my nostrils to my deepest senses and my heart cries out:

“I am home”

Come to me as I sleep.

Let me walk along your shores.

Welcome me home once more.

No i ki te whenua.

Haere mai.

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In Such a Little Hand

21 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by Heather Irwin in All Posts, Seeking Life Now

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Acceptance, Beauty, Emotion, Healing, Joy, life, Love, Motherhood, Poem, Poetry, Power, Son

*

I sat down to write a couple posts, was listening to some good music, cuppa tea by my side and I got inspired. I pulled-out my guitar and wrote a little number. Here are the lyrics.

In Such a Little Hand

In such a little hand
There was so much love to find
The universe exposed
All brokenness made whole
In such a little hand

In such a little face
So much to explore
The day you formed the world
Beauty did restore
In such a little face

There were days we were soaring
There were days when we began to drown
Falling tears all felt more heavy
And laughter weightless as a cloud

Sunlight touched the skin more warmly
And the clouds were darker grey
The whole world opened up
In such a little hand.

In such a little foot
All the places it will go
To follow all your dreams
A million paths to take
In such a little foot

In such a little heart
A world where life is made
Where purest love exists
And no one is afraid
In such a little heart

I’ve finally found my place
In such a little hand

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