Tape by Elzabeth Hipwell

  

Tape and slips of paper,
holding life precariously,
(thread by thread).
It can come loose or remain steady.
Layers are bound to one another
in such a way as to be easily split wide open.
Life can exist within the leaves of paper,
hanging tight
or roughly peeled off--
(torn in pieces).
My life is very fragile
(vulnerable).
I need tape and glue to hold it together,
to keep my insides from being swept away.
I want decorative paper for beauty,
old photos for memories,
and adhesives for cohesiveness of thought.

-Image & Words by Elizabeth Hipwell-

BORN IN by Therese Staples Burton

The pain was born in me the day of my conception.
The spark of energy that gave birth to my soul 
     carried the grief of the unloved.
Deep in the darkness of the womb was a 
     juxtaposition of insecurity and warmth
I grew, rocked gently surrounded by protective waters.
Cradled in a soft silky microcosm.
Sounds carried by encompassing fluids 
     taught me of the world outside.
The beat of an anguished heart shook the walls of my world.
Ripples in the water vibrated with anxiety and fear.
War between hope and despair, joy and anger 
     played out in the bloodstream of my host.
The blood surging through my newly formed veins carried the rage transferred from mother to child.
Through the placental barrier it crossed from 
     one generation to the next.
Planting the rage of an unloved child deep into the center of my soul.
My first tears flowed from eyes that had yet to be opened.
Pain raced on networks of nerves causing me to cry out.
In silence my screams shook the very walls that held me.
Shock waves lapping against my skin caressing.
Lulling me to a deep sleep to escape screams echoing in the dark.
Behind closed eyes dreams beckoned to me,
Promises of maternal love, butter soft kisses,
Gentle voices to sing lullabies in my ears.
Sensations of security and warmth 
    shatter with the reality of being unwanted.
Without words the knowledge burned my newborn soul.
To this day I carry the pain born in me the day of my conception.
-Image & Words by Therese-

I'M SORRY by Elizabeth Hipwell

I'm sorry for your blanket judgement

Catching hold onto my oh-so-naughty vulnerability

God forbid I don't smile when I am sad

When the mask of okayness

Slips and cracks open

To never be put back together in the same way

I am sorry that my excruciating pain

Makes you cringe

Do I see anger?

Do I see fear?

No elicitation of compassion?

I am sorry that my illness

(yes, it is an illness)

Does not manifest itself as tangible, visible proof

If you don't see it,

It doesn't count, right?

I am sorry that you don't see me,

Cracks and all

That you find this imperfection Unlovable

Unacceptable

And not okay.

I'm sorry

So sorry

That you are unable (unwilling) 

To care as I care for you,

That you tolerate,

Rather than celebrate me.

I'm sorry that our relationship

Has fallen short of our expectations and my my hope for us.

Yet,

I love you...

Still...

And for that,

I am not sorry

-Image & Words by Elizabeth Hipwell

GREAT Quote

If you want your life to be a magnificent story, 

then begin by realizing that you are the author 

and everyday you have the opportunity to write a new page.

Mark Houlahan

CAPTIVE by Therese Staples Burton

I am my own captive, held within invisible walls.

Unseen yet I feel them, know they are there.

A glass house contains a part of my soul.

I move behind impregnable walls raging with inner turmoil.

Fear, angst keep me immured.

Limits placed by society force me to conform, keeping the lock on this

Prison.

Creativity that burns, glows within this glass dome.

Feel the intense need to create war with the boundaries of society.

I stand within myself gazing at all I desire.

Frustration rips my soul.

Within captivity dreams soar, lighting the sky,

Brilliant swirls, sparks flash, colors dance.

Walls crash down to enclose the glory. Walls of bondage

Created by rejection, misinterpretation and false shame.

I am my own captive, all that pulses within ready to implode,

Waiting to

Be set free.

                                                               -Image & Words by Therese

I Want To Draw

I want  to draw a world where
Cancer ..has finally been cured!
A world full of colors- bright,
beautiful, splashes of
fun.
Where children are safe in
their homes, and neighbors
look out for each other, instead of
saying "It's not my problem".
I want to draw a world ..
where people care
about each other
friends, strangers..
what would that look like?
What shapes? Colors?
Do I use pencil. ink ?
Can something so delicate
and ever changing
be done in paint?
Acrylic, Oil, or Watercolor?

I want to draw a world
where every pet has
a good home, no more
discarding, hurting, abandoning,
these precious creatures.
It's a world without the
horrific Puppy Mills-
here every one adopts.

I want to draw a world
where Spring and
Summer
are the longest
seasons.
Where Autumn's beauty
is always amazing.

In this world  I am a Mom, In
this world I was never abused,
never got stage IV- since there was
a cure.
In this world I want to draw-
I create the life I never lived.
                                  -Sharon

REPOSITORY by Elizabeth Hipwell

En-wrapped, sweaty limbs
All consumed in black
A quickening heartbeat clutching the fear
Getting a whiff of tangy metal
A bit stifling
My tear stained mug buried within the confines of a desk
It's smooth lack of warmth
Giving off an odor of the handy #2 writing utensil
I'm free from danger 
In the safe nest of my elementary school library
My selfdom aching and splintered as a result of being terrorized by my peers
Now
In this moment
In my sanctuary
Out of harm's way
Finally!

Institutional bulbs radiate down and creep through my fisted digits

Whispering, "Hey! Everything will be okay. Come back when                     

                       you can and the two of us will be able to depart                     

                       on a journey and escape from this harsh reality."

As my heart slows and I take a deep inhalation

I lift my visage to take in the numerous volumes

(A lot for a kid of eleven years of age!)

Just gazing at the many texts fills me with inner faith

They

With their worn bindings discolored pages

My salvation

These books are my treasure trove

I grin

Taking in the expansive apertures to the outside luminescence of the sun

And twist around

Inching my manufactured chair

To take in the potential of literary odysseys of other outsiders and black sheep

It's secure here

I feel at ease

Heartened that this misery shall pass

As long as I have a book repository

That enriches me with the gift of deliverance from this hell

                    -Image & Words by Elizabeth Hipwell