beware


seeing stars on the way down
knocked flat
no warning.
i wasn’t really hungry anyway.

physical abuse
is preceded
by insidious, biting ridicule
that quietly erodes the ego necessary
for self-preservation.

contempt and scorn
are the daily bread of the dis-loved woman
she can not complain
she has no one left to listen
eventually she capitulates
at last believing
that abuse is what she deserves.

i have come to believe
that the abuser loves the challenge
of besting a strong woman.
i was not so much battered,
as conquered.

if i had only read
The Taming of the Shrew
instead of Romeo and Juliet
i might have been
at least
forewarned.

beware the charming man


(c) 2020 BGeiger

crysalis

my body is not who i am.
i am not this fuzzy little worm,
i am an elegant creature,
with fabulous golden wings,
you will see

my fuzzy body only sleeps in fairy dust
and grateful peace
while i become the glorious new me

when i wake,
i will lift my astonishing new wings
and my soul will fly
from flower to flower in the sunlight

and the old you, will see the new me,
and i will wink at you
and fly away


(c) 2020 BGeiger

sign posts


she’s not around much these days
they always ask, but she stays away
her secret life has such demands
she has no time for her old friends

they see the pain behind her eyes
they see the change but don’t know why
she was so bright and vibrant then
the music of her soul has dimmed
her old friends see and want to say
but she wouldn’t tell them anyway

her sunny smile seems insincere
her house too clean, her kids too quiet
her hair and makeup always perfect
she looks the part, but she’s just not
the happy girl they knew and loved
she won’t ask and they won’t say
but they can’t help her anyway

she keeps her sorrows tucked away
she needs their help but she won’t say
her secret shame keeps her withdrawn
if only she could tell someone

one day soon, maybe today
they might ask
and she might say
and they will help her get away

(c) 2020 BGeiger

on leaving


go, or stay, but do not think
that if you wait it might get better
that the first time will be the last time,
don’t excuse the violence,
it is not just stress or job or no job or money or no money,
an abuser will be abusive
no matter the circumstance
the sad truth is that once it starts, it will always, only, ever, get worse

when is it time to leave?
when you realize that no one,
not even god, will change him for you,
when you no longer care about what you are leaving behind,
when your children tell you that it’s time to go,
it is

when you decide to leave, just do it
don’t pack more than you need,
don’t leave a note,
don’t call your mother,
don’t involve your friends,
don’t waste time gathering things that you are not willing to die for
and whatever you do,
don’t go back,
don’t ever go back,
no matter how sorry he seems
you must know that if you give him the chance
the abuser will get even


(c) 2020 BGeiger

what was now


injustice is born from our very humanity,
our need for power, wealth and our enormous vanity.
we destroy our neighbors, our environment,
the futures of our children’s children, and our souls
with those same promises and lies
that have always ever turned us one against the other
for the benefit of the oppressor
never for our own.

what is today, sadly, is what has always been.
tomorrow, if there is to be one,
will require nothing less than the evolution of our very souls,
from our caves and clubs and petty, excruciating wars
to the open minds of harmony and love,
before the final bits of what was now
are scattered to the wind.

(c) 2020 BGeiger

living in color

we want time,
and time,
and more time, to what end?
will we die happier if we live a long life
of if we live gratefully
for temporary things
love, kinship, a smile, eyes that truly see

look at the trees,
i doubt they complain about the years they don’t have.
it seems enough to stretch their branches toward the sun,
to witness thunder and soak up fresh drops of rain,
to stand tall without demanding eternity.

breathe in the beauty and strength of the trees,
endlessly renewing, shedding the old and moving on.
it is the way of the universe.
we live, we grow old, or not, and we die,
maybe we change form and shape and live again,
somehow or another
or maybe not
it doesn’t matter to me
one life is magical enough,
if i don’t waste it living in desperation and fear.

(c) 2020 BGeiger

heartbroken

I’ve seen that look before,
you think that the problem is you.

Sunset pulls mightily upon your soul.
Stars and moon sing their own songs of freedom,
the night birds,
screeching and cawing to one another
delicately unfold their wings,
lifting themselves
on the faintest breeze,
above the earth,
toward the growing darkness.

And you keep shoveling mountains of guilt
over your already tired bones.

You are only reaching for that part of the sky
that belongs to you.

Do you think it is within your power to change
the soul that inhabits your being?
Many of us have tried
to squeeze ourselves into that perfect person mold
biting our tongues,
hiding our tears,
screaming into our pillows.
It never ends well.

Be who you are.
follow the moon and the stars,
unfold your soul wings and fly away



(c) 2020 BGeiger

becoming rain

each of us are only particles,
currently assembled into sentient beings
held together by friction and stubbornness,
aware,
for the moment, of our being-ness.

surviving survival
pulled all of my strings and tore at my heart
’till my particles burned with confusion and dread.

surviving,
recreating myself,
from a bundle of tangled, broken fragments
was only the beginning.
learning to live again,
to find my own being-ness
took all of my soul’s work
and many days, and nights
and years.

when my particles disassemble this time,
I look forward
to becoming rain

The concept of becoming rain is from The Art of Living by Thich Nhat Hanh

(c) 2020 BGeiger

dying, with sparkles


there is no filling the empty soul.
it closes up around itself and refuses to take nourishment.
nothing is right,
nothing lights the darkness.

the soul needs to sing and dance and play, joyously.
if joy has gone of its own accord
or been sold to the highest bidder
the soul will starve.

take back the joy.
let go of the shiny substitute.
death hides in the sparkles.


(c) 2020 BGeiger

shrew


i was a battered wife
briefly,
until I became a prisoner.
which is of course,
the only way to tame a Shrew

the single unlovely, outspoken, prickly weed
in his perfect garden
of quiet, well behaved possessions

the prisoner, fortunately,
will never become what she is not
and the Shrew will finally, at long last
notice a spark of light in the darkness,
pull herself up by her roots,
and her hair,
charge headlong into the
blinding white light of freedom
and never look back.
not ever.

your circumstance is not your fate
it is a warning, not a curse.
run for your life
before you put down roots

(c) 2020 BGeiger