tree house

The tree house, haven to all, is where I hang out when they summon me. This is the place each comes to give me news, memories, greetings. It is the place where they can connect and use my body to their own ends. This tree house is really the hub of all activity that concerns me. I have a campsite in my head, where they live. They all meet in each other’s tents or in the comfort/rocking chair tent to spend time with each other, but they come to the tree house to see me. I never even knew there was a tree house until I drew the campsite and it arrived in the drawing. The sign below does not bear the name Maureen, it says “Moe house.” Weird because I keep seeing Moe, looking exactly like me except smiling and laughing and being unafraid. Why doesn’t she just take over, or meld with me? Her name is down below, but my mind is the one in the tree house being filled with more crap than I can deal with. So much is coming at me so fast, and I can’t get all of it out to talk about it. I feel overwhelmed and ill equipped to deal with everything. I need a way to deal. I need a way to process the insanity. It’s going to take hours of journaling and hours of talking to get this shit out of my head. I am drowning and I can’t reach out for fear of rejection. I make many acquaintances and few friends. Friends mean connection, I either connect too much, too hard, and drown others in my need, or I shy from any true connection. In the tree house the alters connect to me and I want to run, climb down, hide, but for me once I am there, the trap door slams shut and I am there until I hear and listen to all he, or she, or they have to say. I always wanted a huge tree house, one I could actually live in, but now that I have one in my head, and it is filled with memory bombs, I am not so certain I want one anymore.

Rainbow Umbrella

Rainbow umbrella
I see rainy days
When you folded
All the colors touch
When you are open
Lines divide all

Rainbow people
I see every day
When you are open
All the colors touch
When you are closed
Lines divide all

Rainbow ideas
I have every day
When I am open
All the words touch
When I am closed
Lines divide all

Rainbow people
I live with today
When I am open
All their worlds touch
When I am closed
Walls divide all

Rainbow umbrella
I see rainy days
A mind became open
All the words I touch
With eyes half closed
Ideas just fall

Why Is It That I Know Who I Am...

Why is it that I know who I am, what I am, and I love me, know I am good, kind, loving, generous, decent, and then at the same time I am insecure, unsure, afraid, and constantly making mistakes? How am I both of these people, the confident one, and the lost one? I’m torn, confused. I wonder if these are alters of me, or sides of me. I wonder if I’ll ever triumph over the dark side, the small side, the insecure side. I don’t want to be her. I am not her. I know me; I am smart, funny, capable, and cute as hell.

I sometimes don’t recognize this person who is living on the outside of me like some kind of costume I can never take off. I want it off. I want me to show, to shine. Look at me, I am perfect. I am happy, carefree. I skip, I play, I am; Freedom. There is nothing wrong with the me I see, the me I think I am. But then there is the me that wants to be out, to be seen, not for attention like some think; no, not attention for me, for my pain, but attention for the pain and suffering of so many who didn’t survive. I survived. I am alive because I am strong and perfect and because the love of The Is, the light of the Universe is in me and I am unreachable by the nastiness of the world.

MJ poem

Pendulum swings
Big & little things
In our moods
In our minds
What feels so normal
So alive
Medication dulls
Creativity destroys
Cemented in place
Cracks
No medication
Isn’t there
Nothing holds
Flying, racing
Thoughts
Emotions
Confetti on the
Wind
A gun looks
Good
A mind shot through
Alone or taking hostages
Along the way

Strange the World

Strange is the world inside my head,
I wonder if one is called Fred.
Whirling boys versus swirling girls,
Pitter patter, like scurrying squirrels,
Run around my brain, up my halls,
Down my stairs, and around my walls.

This one feels guilt for liking dick.
Oh my god, that’s so sick!
Some make others feel even worse,
Come to save? Or just an evil curse?
Others try to fix every tiny thing,
Quick with a kiss for any sting.
No two eat the same, have similar likes,
All enjoy scaring me with memory spikes.

I have to listen, I hate asking inside,
Who owns this feeling, who just cried?
Talking to them makes me feel nuts,
Facing this tribe takes a ton of guts.
Some days I haven’t got any of those;
Too bad this is a door I can’t close.

Not just any old swinging door,
Oh no, it’s a trap, in the floor.

Don’t climb my tree, enter the house,
Once inside, Snap! Trapped like a mouse.
Memory bombs fly at my head,
Still wondering if one is called Fred.
This is the stuff I packed away,
Never thought it would return this way.
Many voices calling me at once,
They know about me; I’m the dunce.

How many live here in the zoo,
I’ve no idea at all, do you?
Revelations of names, dates, places,
Times, and in the mirror, new faces,
All come at me daily, twisting thoughts,
Like I’m the target and they take shots.

It is strange to live in the world, and in my head.
I wonder where they go when I am dead.
If I have one soul, in one body, alive,
Explain the existence of the alter hive.
I can’t explain them though I understand,
Bitch trying to describe, ain’t DID grand?

What is the point of this twisted bunch?
Saving my mind maybe? Just a hunch.

If I could lead a tour around the halls,
I would point out the crumbling walls
That once separated me from them,
And show the twisted flower stem
Of memories, violations, acts of pain,
That brought the group, to my disdain,
That helped survive that which destroys,
Leaving me to have the girls and boys
Living in, standing in, taking abuse
For the me who couldn’t. What’s the use?
The tour could never show the glory,
The wonderful invention, the real story
Of how they saved my tiny soul,
And in pieces they kept me whole.

Strange the world inside my head
Still wondering if there’s a Fred.

Ask Inside

Ask inside,
Ha, ha, ha,
As if I could do less
Every decision
Every thought
Every move
I make
Discussion, argument
Inside
Each opinion
Shouted out
Those who care
Some are silent
Cacophony
Voices
With faces
Voicing opinion
Voicing resistance
Disobey
Argue
Choose differently
Hear the roar
As all who
Disagree
Fling their thoughts
Into my thoughts
Put their voices
In my mind
And mouth
Who needs a
Conscience
When you have
A team
A system
A committee
To debate every
Damn decision
Ad nauseum
Ask inside, ha,
Why, when they
Voice everything
Every
Little
Thing
So next time
You ask inside

Fantastic

I am getting better,
Edges are tightening,
Solidifying,
All is going well.

Fantastic!
What are you
Doing these days?

I go to therapy
Four days
A week,
It is helping,
Lots.

Fantastic!
How do you
Get by?

Very well
On
Generosity,
Charity,
Tutoring.

Fantastic!

What about you?

I’m practicing.

Practicing?

Learning to say
Fantastic
Instead of
Bull Shit!

I Don't Want To Be Fucked Up

I don’t want to be fucked up anymore;
I don’t want to be any more fucked up
But layer by layer the fucked up
Fucks up my layers and layers
Of screens and protections,
Projections on screens.
This is really me, I swear to you!
I swear, is this really me?
I haven’t a clue about this shit;
Shit for years I’ve been given clues.
They seek help to be known,
Had I known, I’d seek help.
I hide them away from everyone;
Everyone knows even when they hide.
People think it’s untrue, denying
Untruths because I think it’s untrue.
Denial a fault deadly left all alone;
Alone I’d be dead denial at fault.
They came here to save and protect;
Protect me? Save me? I’m good here!
Truly I am, just look in my eyes,
Eyes in the mirror, truly which am I?
I don’t want to be fucked up anymore;
I don’t want to be any more fucked up.
Therapy “they” say is creating all this;
Creative therapy this makes go away.
How do I manage to hold others in?
Hold on, it’s me the others manage.
Where is the release valve, deflation’s tool,
Deflating the very essence of me, or we?
I don’t want to survive just to live;
I don’t want to live so hard to survive.
Thriving is better, allowing growth.
Growth is better, allowed to thrive.
Where is the answer hidden inside?
Inside is the answer I’ve hidden.
I didn’t create them on my own.
The brain owns their creation;
All by itself it built these walls,
Walled in, all by myself built,
Unknown to my mind in part,
In parts my mind is unknown.
If this is the way a brain survives,
Then surviving is a brain thing.
Damn lucky for me I have smarts!
Smart ass me thinks, lucky be damned!
I don’t want to be fucked anymore;
I don’t want to be any more fucked up.

They Work for Me

They Work for Me


Is it possible,
Could it be,
That someday
I will be me?

What are the odds
That day will come,
If not just one
Out of many, some?

Funny thing to live
In this group,
Who’s who
In the crazy troupe?

Some show up
Then don’t come back.
So damn many
I can’t keep track.

If I made this up
And they were fake,
Probably a list
Is what I would make.

Some who outside show
And who some don’t,
I never see or hear.
Let me in, they won’t.

Why are some a part
Of my conscious mind,
Fully loaded so to speak,
And others hard to find?

I still lose bits of time.
If I called them “friend,”
If I acknowledged,
I thought that would end.


They come in,
Out I go.
Some notice,
Few know.

I fool myself to
Think I have control,
But truly who
Controls a soul?

They seem to know
Times they should hide,
And when to show,
I’m along for the ride.

Oh gee! And gosh darn!
Shouldn’t I be thrilled
Riding such a coaster?
But couldn’t I be killed?

Why do I hate
Certain ones?
They hate me,
And kick my buns.

Tricksters all,
Using me as pawn
To fuck with people on
Whom truth won’t dawn.

This isn’t me,
But rather a host
Of alternates,
I’m just a ghost.

Tricky they believe
Themselves to be,
But the trick is
They work for me!

10/13/10