Programming the subconscious for those low in self esteem

Just repeat after me:

I am not special enough
I am not good enough
I am not going to be discovered
They will see me for the what I am

I am not talented enough
I am not bright enough
I am not unique
Just a no-good no-one in the crowd

I will not succeed
I will not make it
I am not the right person for the job
There is no way I will win

The thing about the subconscious that I learned long ago is that it does not hear words like "no" and "not". It is simple and sees ideas in words. So when I repeat this litany it hears:

I am special
I am good
I am going to be discovered
They will see me for the what I am

I am talented
I am bright
I am unique
A just & good one in the crowd

I will succeed
I will make it
I am the right person for the job
There is a way I will win!

True worth

Many speak of the path ahead
The road not yet traveled
The bright future still folded
But what of the path behind?

How do you measure a day
If you have no other days?
Focused only on the future way,
How do you measure a year, a life?

Perhaps the future is a tyranny
An unopened box were we can place
All the things we should do
But have not, only hoping we will embrace

I fear the box that becomes full
Stacked up like damaged toys
Tired of waiting for you to fix them
Their eyes an accusation of broken joys

Maybe if I ponder my achievement
I could judge myself on things done
Lists of people and places,
Milestones reached and awards won?

So, are the days a true measure of us?
Are we just our resumes and stories,
The albums of photos, glimpses of who we were,
The shelved trophies reflecting past glories?

Or in the end,
Should we measure ourselves
By how much we loved,
the joy we gave and all our losses?

Infinite conversation

So how big is infinite?
	Pretty big.
OK. What if I walked over here?
	Further than that.
Hmm. I think I will walk to the park, that seems like a long way.
	I am pretty sure that park is not an infinite distance away.
I should measure it with a ball of string, that way I will know when I can measure infinity again if I want.
(gets string)
	You will need a lot of string. You should start saving up.
OK, I am at the park. Hey, I can still see home from here. Are we at infinity yet?
	Not really.
What if I walk to grandma’s house? That is a long, long way. Mum said.
	I think you should ask your Mum to drive you there. You don’t want to get lost.
(car ride, runs out of string)
Wow, I am glad I got Mum to drive me. I ran out of string. That means that Grandma’s house is infinitely far from mine, right?
	Sorry, it just means you ran out of string.
I am getting tired of this. How much further is infinity away?
	Funny thing is that it is still infinitely further away.
I don’t like this game, any more. I think you are changing the rules. How can infinity minus the distance I have already travelled still be infinity?
	I am not sure if it is the same infinity though. The thing about infinity is that it can have a start but it has no end.
So, “Infinity” is not really a number. It is more of an idea?
	Now you are getting it!

Double vision

A quiet day in the city
Not so long ago
I walked the streets of Brisbane
G20 Summit bare of people

My eyes and mind alive
My memory of past years roused
And painted pictures of  old scenes over new
Showing streets and buildings and people now gone

I remember the old Regent
Ancient leather seats with creaky springs
A smell of popcorn in the air and old carpet
The red velvet curtain that bounds the screen

Everything seemed smaller
There was excitement in the air
The shops, the people, the tea rooms
Full of cakes and special treats

Even with my double vision
I cannot find what's lost
Perhaps it is not the city
But a childhood now long gone

Simple joys

Sunday mornings awoken by the sounds
Of cooking in the kitchen
I rise and find Mum sifting flour
Then rubbing in butter with her fingertips
The smell of hot scones wafts
Through the house drawing the whole family
To breakfast by their noses


Lying on the soft and earthy ground
Breathing hard from the climb
Warm smell of grass rising through the air
Company of family nearby sharing
The cool wind and the blue, blue sky
All of us just taking a moment
To bask in the bliss and peace


Waiting in my passenger seat expecting
To be allowed to disembark
Imagining the faces the feelings
Imminent, and almost real
Yearning for the hugs, the stories
The smiles and the excitement
Reunited with my family after being away

Crushed (Mistakes were made)

The other day
I overheard someone praising work I had done
They did not mean for me to hear
Nor did they know

The other day
I grieved for the ancient loss of self esteem
I did not mean to lose it
Nor did I know

The other day
I laughed for the boost the praise gave me
It was unexpected to hear it
Nor did I smile

The other day
I nearly fell into letting myself believe
I nearly meant it
Nor did I let go

The other day
I pushed away the foolish overheard praise
They did not mean for me to hear
And no one knew

Say it with roses

They say it is easiest to hurt
The ones that are closest to you

They say that you never feel pain
As much as when you lose them

When the dead pass over
And they need to send their love
Psychics often say,
"They show me roses"

Roses mean love
Love with thorns
Pain both given
And received

There is something raw and bloody
About human love
Dirty and confusing and full of betrayal

Yet it lifts me up
Shows me hope beyond past knowing
Gives me the strength to weather many years of storm

There is something gentle and kind
About human love
Clean and clear and full of hope

They say it is easiest to love
The one you let close to you

They say you can survive pain
Even if they die

Show the medium roses, my love

My Street

Screaming in the night
3 o'clock on Monday morning
Police car, flashing lights
"Just get him out of the house"

Yelling and shouting
A brother hits his 40 year old sister
Bleeding mouth and angry words
Dripping on our doorstep

Sunday fighting flashes loudly
"You cheating bastard, did you think of your kids?"
"Don't you come back here again"
Tyres screeching engine roars

Drinking & smoking
Music & cars
Fucking & babies
Yelling & fighting
Violence & Coppers

Civilised humanity with its gloves off

Wild and Free

One day I awoke and I was a butterfly
Wild and beautiful and free
That day I was transformed 
And learned to fly

One day I awoke and I was a lion
Wild and beautiful and free
That day I was transformed
And learned to roar

One day I awoke and I was an Elephant
Wild and beautiful and free
That day I was shot
And made into traditional medicine...


27 March 2013
 

The atheist

I touch my hand
The surface gives
My fingers slip below

“Just like a dream
Not real at all
Those many year”, I think.

I float above
And look down on
What once I thought I was

When those eyes saw
And arms embraced
I knew that dead was gone

But here I am
Floating around
Right above my corpse.

2001

What can 20 minutes of pounding, scalding water do?

Scalding water washing stress from tired muscles
Rivulets of exhausted tension slough away
Like the quicksilver skin of some elemental dragon
Transforming pain and anguish to wisdom

Emerging from the streaming rush
A face with myriad tears uncried
Shines forth amid the creases of time
Exposing a beauty youth cannot decry

Burning from within a marked body
Blemished but uncompromised 
By love, sacrifice and harsh lessons,
A grace, a beauty, is born in reflection

Water may clean the world 
From scarred flesh and thinning hair
But only her soul 
Can keep her beauty for life.

Today you win
and all is not lost.


26 March 2013

I am not

I am not a lot
I am told this every day.
I am OK to marginalise
OK to ignore
OK not to employ

I am not given advantages
I am not targeted for help
I am not provided safe spaces or lists of safe people to talk to
No support for being different
No needs considered special enough

No-one is watching out for me
No-one is protecting my rights
No-one is there to jump on the haters
That hate my gender, race, age or sexuality
That hate my mind, my heart, my soul.

You see,
I am the straw man
Stuffed full of decades of injustices
I am the blamed demographic
That caused all the trouble & hate

So to solve the hate
We are told
It is OK
To turn the hate on me
Even when the sins were never mine

So do not employ me
Do not listen to me
Do not give me equality
Equal rights
Equal dignity

Tell me I am over-entitled
Tell me I am strong
Tell me to stop whining
Stop needing
Stop talking

Cast me from consideration
Cast me from your groups
Cast me from your mind
I deserve it
It is right

Because I am not.

Purple Lady

Big City
Busy Street
People catching buses

Sit down
Wait for bus
Next to purple lady

Busy busy
Coming and going
Lady unmoving, staring

Odd smell
Is it me?
Hope not

There again
This time stronger
Sweet but unclean

Purple lady
hands unsettled
Mumbles under breathe

I look at her

I look

I notice

Short hair once highlighted
Clothes seem neat
Like for traveling

She wears a zipped up purple jacket
Neat and tidy over black pants
Cowboy boots underneath

Clean complexion
In her 30’s
Rather pretty except

Staring vacantly
Waiting for the night
Alone and withdrawn

She is not catching a bus

Should I offer to help?

Last few times
I received fear and anger

I hesitate

Bus arrives and I am whisked away.

…

A few days later
Walking in the crowd
Face marked with dirt and a white smear

Clothes are the same but
Dirty and unkempt
Grey white t-shirt hanging out raggedly

The days have been unkind

She is washed away
River of people
Lost in the crowd.

I am filled with sadness, loss 

Feel ashamed.

Published: Uneven Floor: Purple Lady