Sleeping Feathered Dreamland

sleeping feathered dreamland
peaceful somnolence breaks suddenly
slumber sickness, night terrors
turns upside down into chaos
go from floating to flying
to being flown in a chopper
without a back to the seat
nothing to brace, hold in place
as the helicopter becomes a train
going fast as lightning

I lie flat in the back
on top of the tracks
head bouncing and banging
I’m grabbing for something
to pull myself up, hold myself up
just as another train is coming
while my train is turning
it looks as if the oncoming
train will take my head off
two people seated in front of me
grab my arms pulling me up
just before the train coming
rolls over the track
where my head was

suddenly I’m back on campus
I’m in a nursing tent
like a M.A.S.H. unit
I don’t have any clothes on
ace bandages cover my
groin, breast, and buttocks
an Asian girl who’s the nurse
tells me to give her a urine sample
she leaves the cup on a table
cutting bandages away she tells me
she’ll get me something to wear
no one ever returns after hours of waiting
I step out of the tent bare naked

retrospectively I know
exposing myself
is nowhere near as traumatic
as going through what others
have put me through and
how others have betrayed my trust and
how following other’s guidance has
nearly cost me my life but it
wasn’t until I almost lost my life
that someone finally stepped up to help me
baring my naked body was and still is
the very least of my concerns…

©April 8, 2010 – Tamara Nicholas

The Deepest Scars that I Have

their actions or words
lash out wounding me
wounds heal leaving scars
some show on the surface
others stay deep inside
I still feel them sting
I don’t show a thing
keep a smile on my face
I hide the disgrace
my disgust, human race
keep moving, keep going
knowing what I’m knowing
these people who are showing
fake love and pretending
acting like they know me
I know they don’t know me
they just keep on showing
the same end to same story
it has many plots
keep on plotting rotten plots
without morals without values
they write tragic details
which I have to tend to
what if I don’t want to?
why don’t they clean up
their own fucking messes?
deal with their own issues
learn from their mistakes
develop some character
stop being a developer
of drama, an enabler
taking for granted the fact
that I’m holding back
not releasing my rage
ripping up all their pages
causing them to confront
that they’re not upfront
they’re not ethical at all
they don’t have the balls
don’t see what’s in front
of their beady shut eyes
try to hide their disguise
that sticks out, neon signs
like casinos on strip
how much more of this?
took a year to get pissed
hope they’re happy with this
but they’re oblivious
their head’s are up their ass
even though I’ve been crass
speaking out crying for help
all my email don’t count
they read and discount
interpret what I've said
as I’m sick in the head
makes me question their skill
they’re the ones who are ill
all the wounds that I have
that hurt me so bad
they can not be seen
they start to convene
truth must intervene
why do people demean
while they act so pristine
most scars that I wear
are there because I cared
some day I won’t dare
the marks make people stare

©April 5, 2010 – Tamara Nicholas