Familiar (dis)Comfort

More often than not, I enjoy my own company
I watch smoke and steam rise
I stop and smell roses
I listen to live music
I feel the cool breeze or rain on my skin
I laugh voraciously at the promise of good food

I have learned and practiced

Talking kindly to myself

I have been comfortable eating alone for as long as I can remember

But then again..

There are those times

Those dark

all-encompassing times

When I lose perspective

Where problems seem to swallow me whole

and

I hate myself

or rather, I hate the idea of myself

The pathetic, lonely, sad, pointless distorted version of me.

The “broken,” hopeless me.

The light times

The times when I love myself

or rather, love the idea of myself

Are generally preferable of course

Yet.. the dark times are so familiar

that I find a sense of bricked comfort

in the routine of it,

The tears, the heartache, the self-hatred

The familiar rutted pattern

Arising and arriving less frequently, and less intensely than before

Productive progress and self-improvement at its finest

but they still come. Will they ever not come?

Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson regarding privacy and production.

Who's to say?

“She’s got it all together!”
I’m barely holding it together..

“She’s courageous, she’s annoying, she’s brilliant, she’s too much”

I’m trying, I’m enjoying, I’m learning, I am enough.

Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson regarding public / private self.

My existence needs no apology.

My existence needs no apology.

My existence can be met with:

-celebration (curiosity)

-neutrality (indifference)

-disdain (anger)

Or a great many other reactions

But my existence needs no apology.

What you perceive of me or onto me, is not me,

How you interpret my words, is not necessarily my meaning

Why you fancy me, has little to do with who I actually am.

My existence needs no apology.

Pain and suffering 

Needs an explanation

Because there seems to be

far too much of it in our world

Pain and suffering—

pain and suffering

Needs an apology

The horrors in this world,

The hatred in this world,

The hurt in this world,

Needs an apology.

My existence needs no apology.

Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson regarding apologies.

Maps: Point A to B to C is to B(e)

Where I want to be seems so far away
The path invisible to the naked eye
Unknown landmines buried deep

The road thus far has been winding indeed

The distance from point A and B appears short

But the circles and explosions and unspeakables

Have lengthened the journey

I wish to see clearly the path laid out before me

How can I get there?

Must I fly above, dig and crawl, swivel and dance?

Tell me how, show me now, let me know

And I will happily go.

What bridges do I cross,

Which ones do I burn?

A bird flying high(er) looks down at the earth below

Who is to say?

Is the path already known?
Is it written with each singular step?

Is it set in stone or can it be erased and rerouted?

The distance from point B to C seems so far

But maybe, that’s a deceptive mirage

Maybe, just maybe.. to C is to

Look right here, just ahead

Maybe, just maybe to C is to B(e)

Maybe, just maybe, where I want to be

Is already here inside of me.

Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson regarding maps.

The Essence of Poetry

Love one another

Poetry is the vehicle driving our collective conscious soul, it is the tool with which we convey with words the thoughts and feelings that are so elusive and slippery and uncoveyable, it is the closest mechanism we have to understand why our hearts beat and for whom the bell tolls. Poets are simply humans trying to pin down the ethereal with pen and encapsulate them within ink.

I am inherently worthy and innocent and precious just as every worthy, innocent, and precious being ever is or has been

I am smoke caught in a bottle, with light bursting out from the cracks as in every breakdown (or through?)
I am love and light and vibration, just as every creature we know.

Who am I to try and strike down lightening and capture a wild beast within?

Who am I to witness unspeakable beauty and heartbreak, and keep moving forward as if nothing has changed?

Do things change? Or do they stay the same?

Is it all sheep in wolf-clothing, so incredibly innocent and soft and vulnerable deep down

in our core, in our consciousness, in our collective state

while we put on a mask so fierce to protect what we love

What if we let wolves be wolves and sheep be sheep?

What if we lived in a world where everything and everyone was exactly as they seemed and as they said?

What if we weren’t hurt and scared and clinging so tightly to a mirage of safety through force and violence?

What if we all put our facades aside,

just for a moment.

one singular, spectacular moment.

and let each other in—

safely

with nothing to fear and nothing to hide.

Our magnetic bodies yearn for such a moment

Our magnetic minds wish only to be understood

Our magnetic hearts are forever connected, no matter what we do to try and severe them

Our magnanimous spirit(s) are only one.

One spirit. interconnected.

..yet fear drives and keeps us apart.

But what if?

Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson in honor of World Poetry Day.

Floating

The rain drains from my veins
Leaving me floating amongst the clouds
alone.

A bridge from light blue to beige. 

Safe, sturdy, and content.

Bringing things together,

holding them tight

tighter

tightest

A stapler can only hold so much,

So why do I try to hold even more?

Here I lay; a pizza to my left, a cat to my right

What else could I possibly need in my life?

I am floating, I am floating, far, far away

yet here I am to stay

Floating above my body,

Floating above the clouds

The vines of a spider-plant hold me close

closer

closest 

close in it’s tangling, purifying arms;

Hold me down, keep me here

safe and sound

with no one around

Attach me securely inside

as the rain starts to"—drip—drop"

refilling 

And

flowing still

The clouds floating up above and me here

Down below.

Stuck?

floating—

No one will ever know.

Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson regarding pathetic fallacy.

Who am I to live safely during the war?

Who am I to live safely during the war
the war of the mind

the war on the land

the war that plagues us

the war that sustains us

These wars join the ranks

One-by(e)-one and two-by(e)-two

A game of chess using human fodder 

The powerful feast while the pawns go to slaughter

Feast on the bones and souls of so many

The common people are asked to ration

While the elite prance around in the latest fashion

Who

Who are

Who are we?

We the many

We the proud

We who stand and sit and

Close our eyes

And turn our heads

And look in the mirror

And hope

And wait 

And wonder

When will it all end?

Why?

Why now?

Why again?

No more.

NO. MORE!

The people shout and plead

But it’s too late, 

the board is reset

Ready and at the ready

waiting and shaking

wondering.. who is next

Will they come for me?

How will we ever survive?

Will we ever truly thrive?

Can we escape this?

Can we change this?

Who am I to live safely during the war?

Written by Rose A. Fitzgerald during a Therapeutic Poetry Workshop courtesy of SocietyX with Lisa Ann Markuson regarding the war in Ukraine.