The Two Urns
TW: references to mental illness, eating disorder, physical abuse
Welcome, and a warm first hello to the newcomers!
I’m so happy you’re here.
The Temperance card is this week’s theme: in tarot, it represents blending the parts of self into something unified. This integration can happen in any number of ways, but that type of balance often comes after a trial.
You can read my previous post about this card below:
The following poems address some tough themes (mental illness, eating disorder, physical abuse), so let’s start strong with a couple pictures of my sweet boy Thomas:
Contents:
Cards
Feed
Left Bicep
Background music: “Black Swan Event” by The Lizzy Co Show, now streaming everywhere
Cards Cards in a deck, all of these parts inside: Faces to suit each new situation. So many more than fifty-two align: The parts are legion. (They make a nation.) I earned my superpowers Deadpool-style: Without them, I would have died long ago. Like him, I feel ugly but lovable, And, I work damn hard when it’s time to go. Sometimes the cards get shuffled, and it hurts: It takes time to get them back in the box, But, those same cards can tell you the future. (When handled properly, the queens can talk.) So sit down, if you will. Let’s ante up. At this table, the kings will fill your cup.
Feed The blackberries require a rinse, of course: (Observe the hairs, left from the blossom-time.) I do not have to use a lot of force. I’m not trying to crush them into wine. Now: thick, Icelandic skyr, yogurt of gods. Something that will stick right onto my ribs: Those jangling bones, so unpadded and raw, Covered with dents from my heart doing flips. Finally, a granola roof on top, Shingles of toasted oats and coconut, Three shakes from the bag, hands come to a stop: Any more than that tends to be too much. The spoon descends: urges all to combine. I wish that I could want this food inside.
Left Bicep In 1990, someone grabbed my arm: Thumb deep into the meat of left bicep, Crescent moon-dent emerging from the harm, Marking the place where fingernail meets skin. The bicipital aponeurosis: Sounds like psychiatrists would diagnose, Though, it’s the place where I feel hands closing On my arm when the oldest flashbacks come. It’s where I feel a vise around my strength, An island where the protective part lives: It radiates hot when I’m feeling rage. Its best friends are the muscles that make fists: A gang that specializes in flexion; A crew using swift, forceful connection.
Bright spot from present day: Thomas isn’t the only cat in my life. I also live with an elderly cat named Lily. She’s 18, which shakes out to about 88 in human years. She lives life with gusto, and I do my best to follow her example.
Please consider a small donation to my fundraiser to support the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.
I will be walking to raise funds for AFSP this month to celebrate both my birthday and my continued existence on this earth after multiple attempts on my own life. I am now healthy and strong enough to walk, so I walk.
Please click below to share the link or contribute to my fundraiser:
Love all of this! 💛