Resilience

This is where I get to tell the truth

The victim only stays a victim until the story is told

It’s my quiet nature you counted as weakness

And that, was your first mistake

You didn’t count on my resiliency

Assuming, as I lay wounded, I would never get up

But I did

And as I clawed my way back through the hell you surrounded me with

I became stronger with every reach

It was the taste of my own blood that motivated me

As you sat laughing and watched me bleed

No one knows my story

Oh how I listened to what a disappointment I was

Never living up to expectations

Of me, and the idea of me

If only you knew what I’ve kept to myself

But no one dares to ask

I never stood to be judged by others unsuspicious of the truth

The dissection of my survival skills, cultivated into concerns

Seldom do you hear of such evil conceded

Or of any apologies to the cause

The memory of seeing bystanders frozen

As I was dragged by my feet across the kitchen floor

Pulled across the porch, down the stairs and tossed out like trash

Not one word was uttered as I lay bruised and crying

It’s why I’ve been so quiet

There’s a defensive strategy to combat each word of truth

Discredited and continually victimized by a fragile self worth

So fragile it becomes a menace

But I survived, you

Bellied through your disparagement, bleeding and raw

Until I reached the other side to stand up again

And I did

The scars remain and sometimes ache

But they no longer bleed

Validated by material witness that lay in my possession

Should anyone ever dare to ask

So this is where I get to tell the truth

The story of how I walked away from what has taken many

With my quiet nature you counted as weakness

And that, was your first mistake.

I Am

Photo by Kim Dowson

I am
Flawed
Always growing, always learning
Never perfect.

I am
Humble
Faulted but never broken
Endlessly limited.

I am
Beautiful
Self critical and scared.
Not always.

I am
Happy
Frustrated but still trying
Still trying.

I am
Tired.
Driven and inspired
Empty.

I am
Drained
Taking it all in
Smiling still.

I am
The need
To be and wanted
To matter.

I am
The life
I live to seek
And avoid.

I am
The world
Weighted by love
In hiding.

I am
Everything
Of thought and opinion
Depending.

I am
Misunderstood
Unique and important
Sometimes unheard.

I am
The breath
Guarded, fortified
Too strong.

I am
The pain of it all
The weight of it all
The love of it all
I am
Me.

The Rogue

Photo by Kim Dowson

The stunted growth of the sly one.

With closeted tales and fragile truths.

An exiled self, born of imitation.

Nefarious concoctions to feed off the faithful.

With a gluttonous appetite of egoistic rule.

A deviant, serving of no one.

The unworthy sleep here at the door.

While the heavy weep and crawl the floor.

Betrayed of promise and aid once more.

Under foot their bones snap and splinter.

No truer a rogue could be devoid of distinction.

A truculent infantile of the most horrendous.

Impeded by apathy and hostile.

The Play

Photo by Kim Dowson

The spoiled child calls centre stage.

Annoyingly tapping without pause.

Breathing faster and purposeful.

The room starts to fill.

A thousand voices recite lines from different plays.

And echo throughout the auditorium.

Each one of them demands attention.

Their words getting muddled in the chaos.

To choose just one would be impossible.

The atmosphere changes the air, thin and hot.

As the demands of each become more insistent.

Blurring and dizzying the normal.

A palpitating rhythm begins.

The voices louder, leaving little room to escape.

A voice from the shadow’s yells, “STOP!”

Outside, the spectators wait.

Armed with their opinions and philosophies.

Unaware of the disorganization that looms behind the door.

To catch a thought, a moment, a breath.

To pause and take inventory, to breathe.

Soon quiet befalls the thousand plays recited before.

And calms the each before opening the door.

Weird

Photo by Kim Dowson

Weird. It’s a term that’s often used by people to describe something they don’t understand. It’s just a word when you think about it, and it’s true meaning is to be of extraordinary character, to be magical. I used to get upset being called weird until I really started thinking about what that meant. And then I started welcoming it; I started taking it as a compliment. I love being weird because it means I get to be myself. And no one word can take that away from anyone.

Being called weird simply means you don’t conform to the standards of the status quo. They can’t put a label on you, and it confuses the hell out of them. They’ll listen to your music, they’ll buy your art, but the interest is almost always superficial. Some people are jealous of the magic you possess. And they get frustrated because they can’t take it away from you. It’s a beautiful gift, given to a select few.

So, hell yeah, we’re weird! We are the nonconformists; beautifully unique and we are the ones who bring the colour into this world. We operate at a higher level of consciousness that conformists will never understand. So, celebrate your weirdness! Your individuality! Let that freak flag fly baby! Be proud of who you are because who the hell wants to be anyone else?!

Neighbours

Photo by Kim Dowson

I came across this Facebook page a few weeks ago. It was focused on my end of town, so I decided to join. I was curious. Curious about what might be going on in my end of town, what the posts were all about. Over the years I had met many unwelcoming people in this area so to be honest, I just wanted to see what they were up to.

It’s always good to know the people you’re surrounded by. As best you can anyway; in person. Watching your neighbours isn’t a good way to get to know them. Peeking through blinds like an amateur spy or gripping a pair of binoculars. Maybe you just openly stand there and watch them in which case, you might want to talk to someone about that.

Now, I know there are a lot of people in my part of town that might be a tad too anxious. Perhaps they watch a lot of criminal dramas? And they’ve developed opinions based on stereotypes often shown in the media. They hide in their cars, or in their homes. Afraid of the world they’ve created in their minds.

I remember one day, parking beside a van in the parking lot of my local Staples. And in the van was a couple, talking. We sat for a moment before my mom went in. From the back, my daughter held her phone up near my mom to show her a picture. The back of the phone facing the window. Facing the people in the van.

Within seconds this woman jumps out and taps on our window. I roll it down and before I could say anything she says, “did you just take my picture?” It took me a second to respond to such a ridiculous question. Obviously, we hadn’t, but she seemed to think we did, and she was not happy about it.

I have a skill with agitated people. I’m a calm person, so I know how to bring them down to my level. I had to do that with this woman. Despite us continually saying no, we hadn’t taken her picture, she remained suspicious and accusatory. I remained calm and assured her it wasn’t what she thought it was, until she finally stepped away, hesitantly and we all breathed a sigh of relief.

To be honest, it was a scary situation to be in, especially for my daughter. The one who was being accused. I was ready to pull out quickly if I had to. Positioned myself in a rescue position. Ready to go at a moment’s notice. The shock of the unwarranted situation left us all speechless and shaken. I started to wonder if this was going to become popular behaviour.  

So, getting back to this Facebook page. Remember the Facebook page I mentioned? Well, it turns out there were a lot of those kinds, those ‘anxious’ people on there too. People with scanners, people who monitor the police and spy on their neighbours. Bored, unhappy people with access to a laptop and a forum to share their paranoid thoughts with other ‘anxious’ people.

But there was something far worse on that page. Something very unsettling. These bored, unhappy and ‘anxious’ people? They started passing dangerous judgements that you could see spreading throughout the page and its followers, faster than Covid could ever be and possibly even more deadly.

There was this guy who posted often. Seemingly authoritative with a massive deficiency in compassion as well as intelligence. You see, he had appointed himself guardian of the neighbourhood and took this role very seriously. Even though anyone with a brain could recognize this guy was only doing it for the back pats.

He had a lot to say about the less fortunate. He had a lot to say about the sickness that plagues every city and town’s streets. He had a lot of ‘limited’ opinions he felt he needed to share with others of the same mind. He was using this platform for an ego boost, and he was being fed well. Very well in fact.

He seemed to believe it was his responsibility to film and post his ventures into the world of the less fortunate, into the world of the sick. To show the ‘plight’ unseen by most of us and to stir up the ‘anxious’ ones. To put on display, the sick and addicted for all to shame. I knew how bad some of these people could be, but until then, I never knew just how bad.

What I saw in these videos was nothing short of pure exploitation. A twisted reality show, pandering to the paranoid while feeding his own ego. I couldn’t help but notice the hypocrisy. And then I wondered how many of them were enjoying a glass of wine while they watched? Maybe smoked a little reefer or popped a couple of benzos. You know, just to take the edge off. I mean it’s okay if you do it in the comfort of your own home. It’s legal to buy booze, it’s legal to buy weed, and the meds are prescribed by a doctor. Addicts that don’t even realize they’re addicts because they haven’t lost anything.

And that’s really the only difference. Some of us manage and some of us don’t. And the ones who can’t, do not deserve to be filmed and put on display to be called shit rats and scum by anxious people who think their shit doesn’t stink. To be followed and intruded upon by an ignorant, provoking narcissist with a phone camera.

There was one video I found particularly disturbing. A homeless man, sleeping in hammock in the woods, not bothering anyone. This jackass, as he’s filming, picks up a rake and starts poking at the guy in the hammock. Was he checking to see if the man had overdosed while he was filming? He kept poking while spewing ignorant remarks. As if this guy was shit and he was the janitor.

And the comments were even worse. They kept getting darker as I scrolled down the page. Suggestions like setting bear traps, one man even suggested the man in the hammock be tied up in it as if to insinuate suffocation. They called these people shit rats and scum. Junkies that should be removed from society because they’re all criminals and they’re all out to take our children and steal our things. Our precious things that we work so hard for, and they just want handouts.

I literally laughed out loud when I read one woman’s post typed in all caps. It read like this, “I HAVE CHILDREN THAT GO TO SCHOOL ABOUT A HALF A MILE FROM THESE HOMELESS CAMPS. I DON’T WANT THEM SCARRED FOR LIFE HAVING TO WALK PAST THESE PEOPLE. THEY ARE ALL ARMED AND DANGEROUS CRIMINALS THAT CAN TAKE OUR CHILDREN AND STEAL OUR HOMES. YOU’RE DOING A GREAT SERVICE SO THANK YOU FOR TRYING TO GET THIS SCUM OUT OF OUR NEIGHBOURHOOD’.

Classy. Hilarious too she thinks our woods are filled with armed and dangerous criminals. If that were true, I think we’d be outmanned, it would at the very least be chaotic. How could anyone walk safely anywhere? These are the kind of people you really need to worry about. The ones who are watching these videos, cheering him on. They’re not just anxious, they’re downright paranoid and quite possibly, far more dangerous than anyone living in the woods.

In his twisted reality show, contradicting a newspaper interview where he advised people to treat the sick and less fortunate with compassion, he treats them more like vermin. Humiliating those who are already living humiliating lives. Feeding off the comments that follow every sick video he posts. They should be monitored for organization. Wine moms, weed dads and amateur vigilantes. This is the shit that gets people hurt.

A couple of months ago a car purposely ran down a homeless man who was minding his own business. He was just walking down the street with a cart full of everything he owned. The man is still recovering, his tough life now made even tougher. And the people responsible still haven’t been found. Perhaps it’s not a priority. It certainly seems that way on this page.

As someone who has compassion for most, especially the sick and discarded. It looked as though it was up to me to defend those who were being humiliated. Certainly no one else was. If they weren’t joining in, then they were too afraid to speak up. So, I gave them a voice.

I wrote a very long comment, educating the ignorant and defending the sick and less fortunate. I educated them on the many reasons people end up on the streets or living in the woods. Educated them on various mental health conditions that if not properly managed can lead a person to become lost to society. That they may seem like they’re on drugs.

I explained how our health care system, as good as it is, is failing these people. Most of them living on the streets, addicted to drugs and alcohol have unmanaged mental health issues or trauma. These people have an illness, they’re sick. They are not scum or shit rats. They steal to survive because there is no help for them. They are human beings. They could be any one of your kids, a husband, a wife, anyone.

And then I brought about another concern I had. What if the families of these people saw the videos and the horrifying comments? What if it was your neighbour’s child but they were quiet about it to avoid judgement? And what about the children we’ve lost recently to drug overdoses? Were they scum shit rats who deserved to be in jail or cast out of society too? Where is the compassion? I asked.

There wasn’t any. I had one like before I was removed from the page. Ousted by a group who’s pinned rules spoke of no bullying, no hate speech, compassion for others and a whole lot more. The hypocrisy was staggering as well as the sense of entitlement. How dare you judge those you know nothing about!

You have a drink to wind down after a hard day at work. Maybe a glass of wine or two with dinner. Maybe the ladies want to come over for a wine party? Or maybe you drink when no one is looking? Hide the empty bottles from the neighbours.

You have a prescription for those meds. The painkillers that sit in your drawer. The benzos in your medicine cabinet. It’s all legal so it’s okay. I work hard, my kids work hard, and we have a lot of stuff, so there’s no problem. Until it becomes a problem.

Do you know how many addicts hide in their houses, staging their lives with positive Facebook posts and inspirational sayings? You’d never know it because they’re good at hiding it. They’re not like those in the woods, they’re not sick. They are, they just don’t think they are and most of them are only one bottle away from losing it all. It happens fast, and it can happen to almost anyone.

I probably won’t be let back on that page again. At least I had the chance to know the people I live among. Dangerous, anxious, paranoid people who think they’re better than anyone else. The ones who follow all the hashtag trends, post pictures of their wonderful lives and they’re happy families. No cracks exposed, no fractures of any kind. Everything is perfect and they’re going to make sure it stays that way.

Beware of these people because if they organize, shit is going to hit the fan. It’ll be like the PTA on steroids. You’ll have to get a pass just to get in and out. There’ll be surveillance. A police state inside a suburban neighbourhood run by soccer moms and neatly groomed men with clipboards. Distributing their agenda for all to follow. Anyone who rebels will be cast out. There will be no room for dissidence in their blessed world.

Dark Days

Photo by Kim Dowson

Dim the light once bright.

To wake in mornings shadow.

Slumbered warmth calls to stay.

As cold comes creeping in.

To procrastinate once more.

Lost in a wordless debate.

Twilight flickers on empty walls.

While shadows perform off in the distance.

Quickly to fade.

Shadows retreat along with the twilight.

Passing clouds bring forth obscurity.

And with it a diminishing resolve.

Darkening skies.

Wind cold as it carries the mist.

A weariness sets in as harmony is disrupted.

Replacing logic with doubt.

The evaluation begins.

Deconstructing the antagonist brought forth to question.

A trickster to weaken the ego.

Dare not give in.

Awareness of the self.

Such is ammunition for deceptive intrusions.

Pausing on thoughts that come into question.

That crawl out of the darkness.

Quiet to remain.

Dare not bruise another with altered perceptions.

Soon to pass, carried with the storm and its mist.

A challenge for the lonely though not hopeless.

Darkest are the days.

The self gets lost in slumber.

As light retreats and pauses too cold.

The weary must remember.

The twilight comes from within.

Reclamation

Photo by Kim Dowson

Steady the course.

Through crushed green and dirt I creep.

Searching for a way in.

Faithful to my true.

It calls me back with hardly a notice.

Quick to fill and swallow.

I’m merciless.

Stealing all that lies before me.

Banishing it to the darkness.

My rage grows.

Callously wasting earth as I hasten.

Nothing can stop me.

Fate called me here.

To reclaim a home that once was.

A home that is to be once again.

Replenished.

A Poem for The Disheartened

Photo by Kim Dowson

Go easy.

Life can be a monster, but it’s not all bad.

We just need to carry each other sometimes.

Listen to each other, lean on each other.

Be willing to learn from our mistakes.

So we don’t hurt one another.

In kindness.

Be patient and compassionate.

Some of us need time to adjust.

Fear gets in the way, and you panic.

Your mind is overloaded, and so you just have to…

Stop. Be still.

For just a moment.

Breathe, take it all in.

Give it time to sink in, to realize it all.

To see what you haven’t heard.

To hear the things you might have missed.

We are beautiful.

Flawed, complicated, full of dreams.

Success is not the money you make, it’s the hearts you touch.

The world you create.

The love you share.

Just love and be loved.

Don’t squander what’s been given to you.

Embrace it, cherish it, immerse yourself in it.

Let it calm any worries you might have.

Accept it, flaws and all.

Nothing in this world is ever perfect.

So go easy.

Carry each other without judgement or opinion.

Practice love unconditionally.

Find peace within your heart and share it.

Fight for the good that’s inside all of us.

And don’t leave this world with one ounce of regret.

Puddles

Photo by Kim Dowson

Glow fades as the grey comes.

Ambitiously making its way into the hours.

Dulling any perception of beauty as it consumes all.

Declining into dim light.

The discomforts of a dulled, tired mind.

Willed by ashes of an afternoon sleep to preserve the remains.

Tempted by the outside.

Its air sweetened with the fresh scent of fern and cedar.

Dancing on the mist, it caresses my lips as I open the door to taste it.

It calls me.

Luring me in with the sound of an anticipated rain.

I prepare my dance with no care for spectators.

They may only join me.

The mist gathers and beads.

Steadily washing over me as each drop grows.

Falling to my feet before disappearing into the earth.

Heavier the fall.

Discomfort fades and is replaced by profound joy.

A respect for the simplicity of such beauty.

To watch the trees dance as they bathe, my youth returns.

Pools fill and ripple, just big enough for two feet.

Curiosity cannot be denied, it’s all or nothing.

And as I step into the pool to splash in all its distinction.

I feel it creep up my legs.

And I realize, I’m not wearing pants.