Emotion Is Truth

Tuesday, April 25, 2006

All The True Vows

All the true vows
are secret vows --
the ones we speak out loud
are the ones we break.

There is only one life
you can call your own
and a thousand others
you can call by any name you want.

Hold to the truth you make
every day with your own body,
don't turn your face away.

Hold to your own truth
at the center of the image
you were born with.

Those who do not understand
their destiny will never understand
the friends they have made,
nor the work they have chosen.

Nor the one life that waits
beyond all the others.

By the lake in the wood
in the shadows
you can
whisper that truth
to the quiet reflection
you see in the water.

Whatever you hear from
the water, remember,

It wants to carry
the sound of its truth on your lips.

Remember,
in this place
no one can hear you

And out of the silence
you can make a promise
it will kill you to break.

That way, you'll find
what is real and what is not.

I know what I am saying.
Time almost forsook me
and I looked again.

Seeing my reflection,
I broke a promise
and spoke
for the first time
after all these years

In my own voice,
Before it was too late
to turn my face again.

~ David Whyte ~

Posted at Tuesday, April 25, 2006 by TinyDancer120
(2) got emotional. Permalink

Friday, April 21, 2006

Shepherd

You are not the first.
No, you, you are not the first to sleep in
My bed and quench the fires of my thirst
And tell me your love goes deeper than the
Bolt and the screw
Because that is not true.
And your lies are the worst.
Mr. B. and Dr. T. and
The Ph.D.,
They all said the same things to me and I listened.
And I listened, listened
To their
LIES!
LIES!
LIES!
And there were others, too, besides you
and them.
All of you have led me in circles, telling me
We are going somewhere so close that it will feel far away.
Telling me that we can go today.
But it's never OK, and it's never today,
And I hurt and I hurt and I go in circles
And I hurt.
And when I look in your eyes, I realize you're like all
The rest.
Leading me nowhere.
A shepherd: Your disguise.

© Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

Posted at Friday, April 21, 2006 by TinyDancer120
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Saturday, March 18, 2006

Here Comes Kindergarten!

My little boy, who was once a premie, is going to start KINDERGARTEN on August 21! Watching a part of myself grow up all over again makes me feel young, but realizing my little guy is going to start kindergarten makes me feel a bit OLD!

This pic was taken in mid-March '06. Dylan is turning into a
real ham (and, well, a turkey sometimes, too)!

Posted at Saturday, March 18, 2006 by TinyDancer120
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Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Sensory Perceptions

Can you see her (she's 17)?
The cuts on her arms from
Crushing through the brush?
The blood running down her legs like a marathon?
The vomit pouring out
As quickly and exact as a cracked egg?

Can you see her (she's 18)?
Can you see what has happened since college began?
Why she acts like she does?
Why she sleeps around now,
Needing control; just a little buzz?

Can you feel her (she's 19)?
Feel her heart beat faster when they kiss her?
Praying, "I hope I like it, just this once,"
Numbing herself to their quickie embraces,
Then racing to trig class right after lunch?

Do you know her?
The girl in America who is date-raped?
The one who appears a slut but
Only wants to believe that "sex" = "liberate?"
Do you know her?

Do you smell her?
The fear rising on the back of her neck
When groups of guys stop talking to check
Her legs, her hair, not to mention her ass, as she runs
From building to building on campus,

Not wanting to miss a class; Vassar was the dream.
The state university was what she got.
A virgin in her wedding bed, the dream.
But instead, at 17, blood, rope burns,
And a few too many clots.

Do you feel her?
Want to hold her?
Tell her she'll be safe with you?
Even though the pain still soaks through
Her as if she's a sponge —

Squeezed and dripping blood,
And as you hold her,
You feel her body shake with the flood
Of wanting to be in control of her own life.
Of wondering if she ever will be.

Of berating herself for going out with him
Fifteen years ago,
Despite her instincts that he would be
Rough, tough, a real wanna-be.
Instead, he tied her down and said,
"Don't say 'no.' It's meant to be. Let's go."

Can you see her now (she's 32)? Can you see her?
Can you see me?

© Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

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Posted at Tuesday, January 03, 2006 by TinyDancer120
(2) got emotional. Permalink

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Home For the Hellidays

Jimmy thinks 'the holidays' are for men with money and prestige. Guys who've never had bipolar disorder (a.k.a. manic-depression), cancer scares, or wives who are constantly late for dinner - "So sorry! I missed the bloody tube!" - because they're being treated for their cases of screaming thighs by the exterminator.

The sodding bug guy, for Christ's sake. Who cheats on you with
a man who wipes out bugs for a living? And what does that say
about you? Jimmy's 35, and he doesn't yet know, even though he's
consulted many a drink for the answer. He's already
been married (and divorced) once: to a gorgeous, twistable,
sexually-incomprehensible, vapid, dark woman who never
made her origins or lineage known to him.

South American or Indian? Yeah.

Bourbon-dependence is beginning to bug him, as is this time of year.
Pissing, sodding Christmas trees. Everywhere he goes, there they are,
asking him to spend his money on shit he has no use for, for people he
has no use for.

The bug guy. And they never had a bug problem in their
flat to start with. Bugs for bourbon. A fair trade, he eventually decided.

His ex-wife was a real Christmas tree: expensive, beautiful, but
fleeting and just too sharp to touch. Faux trees are like his new wife:
straight from the box, full of holes yet sturdy, always blocking the view
from the living-room window, and Made In China.

At least he doesn't have to ask where this one came from.

© Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

Posted at Sunday, December 04, 2005 by TinyDancer120
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Saturday, June 11, 2005

This Way

You sleep between us
When you once slept inside me.
You had a head of peach fuzz,
But now I cut your hair
(the only thing you got from me).
You mumble in your sleep,
Talk to Thomas the Train
And hope that he hears you
(I can't tell you it's in vain).
You don't need me like you did;
You're almost four-and-a-half.
You do things, say things, that always make me laugh.
Daddy's Biggest Helper.
Mommy's Angel Boy.
Our little child who fights off sleep
Though he likes it better
Than any toy.
What do you dream of?
What will you become?
Why do you like trains
And watching them run?
Will you be okay
With being an only child?
Because I wasn't —
I got lonely after a while.
How do we know our decisions are right
When we exhaustedly tuck you into bed each night?
But the joy of not knowing
Is finding a little piece of your puzzle each day,
Of watching you laugh
While you run and play,
Of hearing you say, "Don't go, Mommy! Stay!"
And I fight back sweet tears,
Knowing that it won't always
Be this way.
© Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

Posted at Saturday, June 11, 2005 by TinyDancer120
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Driving Route 70,
Somewhere in Alabama

He slept the whole way.
We left Tupelo and Elvis and all
The sticky, small-town drunks
And drove.
Just to get away, really, and because he said
He wanted to see more of the South than just his face
In the mirror.
A Van Morrison remnant dripped like old vanilla from the speakers
And I sang with the radio to wake him up,
But he only smiled at a dream's fleeting detail
And grunted.
The Alabama state line didn’t change anything and I drove
In no particular direction with the top down,
And we wound up on Route 70,
Alabama.
I thought about the time I came home and
Discovered that they both liked Bach.
That was a black and buzzing kind of night --
And I decided it was better to have him sleeping here, beside me,
In the squeaky front seat,
Even if he didn't see a thing.

©Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

Posted at Saturday, June 11, 2005 by TinyDancer120
(1) got emotional. Permalink

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Healin'

It's
So
Hot in here.

Some-
body
Bring me a beer.

Love this feelin';
I am healin',
Keeps me reelin',

Up all night.
Up all night.
Up all night.

Come on boys,
Bring your toys
But keep your poise

'cause I
Don't belong to anyone
Just want to have some fun.

Don't be stalling;
Night is calling
And I'm falling

In love with
The healing,
My health not stealing

Away, and there's
A resurrection
In my reflection

Up all night.
Up all night.
Up all night.

Wait —
Forget the beer
You weren't here

In my pain
In my pain
In my helplessness.

So I'll
Let you go,
I guess.

My back was
To your front
And you're still

Just a runt
All beefed
Up outside

But couldn't
Take the hellish ride
Across the chasm, far and wide.

I don't want
To reconnect;
You lack respect,

Don't accept
The aspects
Of my depths.

Hot and sweaty,
I am ready
To leave durin' my favorite song

'cause you've been in the shallow end —

For
Too
Damned
Long.

© Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

Posted at Wednesday, May 25, 2005 by TinyDancer120
(4) got emotional. Permalink

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

The Horse

You and me, babe, we've lived on both sides of Hell.
Waitin' for that sunny day,
Waitin' for me to get well.

It's a hard, long trip back to us,
Bitterness, agony in the way,
Times we've thought our hearts would rust.

You keep your emotions deep in your vault,
Smilin' on the outside all the way,
But thinkin' this is someone's fault.

You've never worn your feelings on your shirt,
Sure it'd ride out okay,
But that horse, black and strong, still kicks us with hurt.

You wanna kiss my heart, make it better,
Send me a permanent Valentine,
An RX in a love letter.

It ain't that easy to do.
To see me run away
Into myself, hidden from you.

So I guess we're both locked up.
You in your vault, me in my decay,
But maybe one day, we'll escape this round-up.

© Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

Posted at Tuesday, May 24, 2005 by TinyDancer120
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Thursday, May 19, 2005

Over Here (For Doug Holzhauer)
(A New Year's letter for my family)

Let me breathe,
Let me breathe,
I'm scared as hell over here.

Remember me, remember me
Though I'm not there for the New Year.
The grit in my eyes,

The smell of my sweat,
The knowledge my best buddy
Just got shot to death —

Joining up wasn't for this.
It was for money for college,
To help me gain knowledge,

Not to be lying here in this sandpit
With my only lover being fear.
I'm scared as hell over here.

Yeah, I enlisted, but I never thought
This would be part of the deal.
Dubya wants to make Daddy happy,

Even if it means he has to lie, cheat, and steal —
And put our lives on the line
And serve us smoke, death, and sand for meals.

I want to come home, baby.
To you, our house, our girl,
And that shower we own and know so well.

When I'm scared at night,
I think of you
And how that shower together is something we'll do.

I'll come home,
I'll feel clean,
I'll be different; a family man, maybe serene.

But I'll always be tainted on the inside;
I killed my first enemy today.
My buddies said, "Good job, man," but I vomited

And then walked away.
This war - oh, "conflict," sorry -
Just isn't worth dying for.

I keep a picture of you
And a picture of Belle
With me at all times

So that I can tell
What Home looks like,
What it'll be like next year,

When I come Home
And am not the hunted, the haunted.
Baby, I'm scared as hell over here.

© Rebecca Pilcher Sissom

Posted at Thursday, May 19, 2005 by TinyDancer120
(1) got emotional. Permalink