The Summer of 2005...

I went to Upward Bound, an early college program the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school (summer of 2005). For our english class that we had we were given a book of Maine poets which for me was great (I really started to embrace poetry), I really enjoyed this idea. While at Upward Bound and going through this book of poems I marked three of them that stood out to me…

Burning Her Past - Thomas Carper

He would have her. But she had herself,
In part, locked in a chest of drawers. The key
Was on a ring hung from a kitchen shelf
In plain sigh, so could not with secrecy
Be hidden away, or lost. And so she knew
When he possessed it, when his hands attacked
The boxes with the photographs, and threw
The letters to the floor, and than ransacked
The farthest corners; when he made the fire
And sent the life she had before they met
Violently into it--as if desire
For him would let her willingly forget
All that was not himself, simply because
No trace remained of anything she was.

Mirror - Richard Foerster

Stepping from the shower,
I find you scrimmed, deep
Within that simpler dimension,
Peering through cataracts
Directly out of me.

Is it my future, this
Distortion, or merely the haunting
Past, or what sense tells me:
The palpable divide
Between flesh and ash.

O, to erase every
Last aspect of you
With one overarching gesture
And stand for once in clarity,
Naked and wholly alone.

One the Head of a Pin - Edward Nobles

Through the thin
Needle
Of an eye,
You can prick
The darkness
To discover
Blood, and
Eventually,
The splinter
That cripples
Your heart.

The full moments
Sink, the oldest
Collapse, the skies
Fall down,
Christian Little.

Faith
So small, it fits
In the pocket,
In a tulip, in the
Hold
Of an ear. Hearing
Shut down, sight
Invisible
And the mouth
Stopped up
With no light.

The ghosts
Are not. Holy ghosts.
Not tears.
Dancing and
Darkness and…

The soul
Is something. Must be
Something. At least
A dream
In a small, thin
Box. You cannot
See, but feel
Its buzz
Die when you
Block your heart’s ear.

Discover
Something. Discover
This: How can we
Trick you
Into your self,

Dear life?

At 15/16 years old this how I viewed my life. This is how I saw my life through the words of other people. This was a summer after my grandmother passed away (for those that knew her would understand the impact she had on people). I started writing for her when she was sick with pancreatic cancer thinking I was always writing about her, but unconsciously I wrote about being abused. I didn’t realize this much later. (One day my dad found two poems and asked if they were about him, this is when I knew I wasn’t writing just about Gram but I was writing about him). Those poems:

Like a smile to a frown,
Like the king losing the crown.
Like a twinkle to a tear,
Like a dream turning to a fear.
Stop in to say hello,
You only see a halo.
Hello turns to goodbye,
Tears come down and you cry.

Fears hide behind my face,
I’m alone in this unwanted place.
My heart wounded by a dream,
I’m hurt but no one hears my screams.
I see the tears from my eyes,
Again no one hears my silent cries.
I cant even speak of how I feel,
My tears, my screams, are they real?

I thought it was crazy to think that when I consciously thought I was writing about Gram that unconsciously I was writing about my abusive childhood. She was the one person I could tell because she was gone (believe if she was here she would of taken this into her own hands) but I was telling someone. It’s like when cops going to a call on domestic violence and they ask the victim “well why don’t you leave” people ask “why didn’t you tell anyone” for them it’s simple for us (people who have gone through it) it’s not. I did tell someone (no one said they have to alive).

My writing spiraled into a dark place because I started to realize what was happening to me was wrong. My writing was dark but I wasn’t and sometimes that’s still the case but now I can bring light upon myself knowing that I’ve helped other individuals see their darkness. Today I have a tattoo on my left shoulder with the symbol “Angel” and the initials BJG for Betty Jane Garriott with wings coming off. She told me she would always be looking over me and that I know is that case. The spirit of someone can be so strong that they can bring the darkness to life and that’s what she did and I hope to past that onto other through Breathe the AIR. Rest in peace Gram, you are always missed.