Daughter Mental Illness Poems

I've been feeling happy lately,
But my happiness is dull.
Maybe it's because I've not done things,
That were supposed to be done.
Lately I've been dodging bullets,
Never meeting...

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I emerged with a silver pen in hand,
…and a tempest raging within.
Words writhe, a serpent's coil,
…tightening their grip,
A soul adrift in a sea of 
…self-made...

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This ones for you. John 

Cheers to the last straw! 
You drew it and smashed it.
You broke it and slashed it.
This is the end to...

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My real mommy's love oft eludes me, living in her shadow.
My roleplays of being a mommy means there's a void in me.
My mommy type friends...

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The alternate universe is expanding within me. 

Some things are starting to feel familiar. 

Not my family- no they are all wrong. 

I’m pulling away...

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This poem is written in support of those who have Dementia or Alzheimer's. It is also in support of their loved ones. The journey is...

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You always wanted me to be
That girl I always refused to be....

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She was always first at everything.
She was first to leave impression on me.
She was always rescuing me.
She first witnessed my worst experiences.

She always wanted the...

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Overly familiar with her defiance
patterns of fetal alcohol confusion,
neuro-systemic habits of resistance,

I, the consummate ecofeminist,
was sure my daughter felt
I was shutting wounded Ivy out
when she...

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Flames

Love is full of moments, 
that are truly intense. 
They have passion, 
and fervor
to be kept, 
for later... 
when the fires dim, 
or even go...

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i once knew a girl whose mom got sick.
she'd sleep the days away, laying in the dark.
perpetually tired, "maybe next time" was the distant sigh.
her...

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I know mom doesn’t believe the things she worries.

I just wish that she wouldn’t inflict her fears on me in a hurry. 

I guess this...

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I came here hopefully. 

But not willingly. 

I came here to be protected!

I guess I’m old enough to be rejected…

By a mom who wanted a...

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Act Eight, Chapter One. Part Three
                Part of a grander...

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Why in a gas oven, dear Sylvia,
     did you stick your pretty, middle-class head?
Was the life of upper suburbia
  ...

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