On Display

I’m weary of being on display

for others to assess

inside these walls of my home

as well as when I am brave enough

to cast shadows along the sidewalks

to be vulnerable within a community 

in which at times I feel like an unwanted outsider

my heart often beating wildly outside of my chest

as if wanting to escape the cage of my ribs

and yet there is a steely determination 

to bring YOU

even for a brief moment 

into my world

a desire to speak my truth 

even if it causes myself 

and everyone around me discomfort

My shadows are your shadows

if only you could have enough courage to see 

the mirror of my suffering

to meet my unwavering gaze 

Dare yourself not to look away!

That.is.what.it.means.

To grow together in love

Angela Minard 2021©

What Will You Choose?

 

Dreaming in watercolor

stained glass images

crystal clear mirage 

the aspects of human nature

bleed my heart 

seeping into the fluidity of my soul

blurring the lines of what it is to be authentic 

are you a lie posing as a teacher?

ask yourself, not your ego

are you compassion and grace?

are you the mirror of truth

or falsifying your name?

Can you see beyond the shining colors

to the depths of human suffering?

Can you offer a warm hand 

or a cold heart?

What will you choose?

Angela Minard 2021©

Watercolor Lotus Flower by Libby May

Sat Nam~Truth Is Your Name

 

Truth is your name, not the letters behind them, nor your diagnoses, those labels of wife, mother, sister, friend...

Breathe in your grace and exhale the stories that hold you back

Once I knew a quiet and watchful child who held fears hand

befriending a belly that fluttered

her sweet racing heart a constant companion

Insecurity weaved it’s way into every fiber of her tender being; 

a sturdy fabric for such a delicate soul to wear

This is your time to undress without shame

to shrug the heaviness of that old and tattered garment off your weary shoulders

Drape yourself in the finest silks and gossamer threads

Inhale the heady fragrance of peace as you release the hand of fears icy grip

This is your time...

Angela Minard 2021©

Photography by~ Kristina Makeeva

Always, I Rise

 

Artwork by~ Masaaki Sasomoto

At the height of my eating disorder, when I was entrenched in anorexic behaviors, I also held a full time job working with children with autism and other developmental disabilities. The only time it affected my work was when I took a leave of absence to go into treatment. I have missed work at times for mental health days, and I think that almost everyone at some time in their work history has done that. I would rather take a day for self care than to be sub par at my work. For many people struggling with mental health, routines are a huge part of maintaining normalcy and stability. These days of having extra time on my hands not teaching at the studio have thrown off my routine. I miss the structure, but have found myself feeling more creative, and exploring new ideas. I don’t often embrace change, but it may be time to take more chances, and move out of my comfort zone a bit. I’ve been working on publishing a few volumes of poetry, as well as a memoir, while also finishing up my 300 hr. yoga training. Teaching yoga is still deeply nourishing, and there is always so much to continue learning, which keeps me engaged. I wouldn’t wish having a mental illness on anyone, but working through the challenges and taking steps toward healing is an accomplishment I’m proud to continue. Sometimes I get discouraged, but when I look back on all I’ve been through, these 12 years of overcoming anorexia, and climbing my way through the muck of trauma has been but a drop in the bucket of my 55 years on earth. Even though I have no idea what the future holds, I continue to move forward, often stumbling, but always, I rise. 

Throat Chakra

 

Weaving the threads of time into a tapestry 

the yellow Canary symbolizes the power to control the voice, feelings, and emotions...

Strum the harp strings of your heart

carrying the echo of your song to the stars and beyond

Your infinite vibration rings strong and true...

Angela Minard 2021© 

A Birdsong Lullaby

 

Even when you close your eyes

the chatter doesn’t stop

tap, tap, tapping on your shoulders

incessant chanting in your ears...

When escape is not possible

build a nest, and nourish fresh thoughts

while the words find a home to make sense and rest 

Create a refuge;

a collage of fine twigs, downy feathers, and delicate baby’s breath

to line your heart with tender care

finally serenaded to sleep by a birdsong lullaby

Angela Minard 2021© 

Artwork by Lucy Campbell

The Lie Of Perfection

Each fold and sharp crease between thumbnail and stark white paper

hisses with outrage

refined angles

cutting remarks behind a simpering smile

shooting baskets with the misshapen wads

aim and miss

each paper crane is formed from everything she was told she lacked

her many failures bent into the correct aesthetic shape

forced to acquiesce 

throbbing fingers crimp and tuck

seething warmth rising with each crumpled mistake

these messy pages tell her battled tale...

-the lie of perfection

Angela Minard© 

Artwork by Duy Huynh

Transforming Darkness

Something about the birds today pulled at my heart

quietly tugging my awareness skyward 

Everywhere I went I could feel the fluttering of wings on my skin

like the sweet breath of angels 

caressing the back of my weary neck

Perhaps I had been looking down for too long

the weight of darkness no longer screeching

but continuing to listen intently

as if silence was the monster hiding

While doing yard work on this atypically warm autumn day 

I at first mistook the starlings that caught my eye 

for swirling leaves 

until their musical trilling filled the air

“Look up!” they seemed to be singing insistently 

Pausing to rest

tilting my gaze to the heavens

my eyes widened as I watched in wonder

the transformation 

from onyx starlings to opalescent doves

the honeyed sky dripping like slow rain

weightless...

cradled within the downy wings of protection

-You are safe

Angela Minard© 

Artwork by Duy Huynh

Beyond the Pose

planting my hands firmly into the ground

and flipping upside down

shifting perspectives

exploring the perimeters 

a compass leading in all directions

Inhale

expanding freedom

Exhale

releasing into gravity 

the outlines disappear

diving into presence 

hold on tight

savor the moment

and then let it go

dancing with breath

leaning into life...

Angela Minard© 

It’s Why I Tell You

I probably shouldn’t come here and tell You

Every fucking feeling that moves

through me

Maybe

I’m not even talking to 

You

around and around in circles 

until I’m spinning 

I haven’t been here in awhile

have I?

I’m sick of coming back.

I should know how to do this by now

everyday Grows slower

Grows darker

like a slow motion dream that I can’t wake up from

I don’t know how to stop it

No one knows

no one knows

It’s why I tell

You

Angela Minard© 

Don’t Forget

The me that started this blog over twelve years ago is long gone, although the strength and wisdom was centered deep inside, it took some digging to discover. Starting this blog was also the beginning of healing from sexual trauma and anorexia, although at times it felt as if all of that digging may bury me.
A couple of times it almost did...
I’m not sure why I’m here, writing I mean...
I was driving home from teaching my Monday evening yoga classes, and my mind was wandering as I watched the first snowfall of the season...wandering to the past, and I thought about the pain that I poured out on this blog. Healing is a gift I finally allowed myself. Yoga gave me the gift of embodiment, and I’m grateful that I can pay that gift forward. I rarely visit the past anymore, but when I do it’s from a more forgiving place. I’m not perfect and life is never perfect, but I’m good...life is good. I doubt anyone reads these words, but if you found your way here, take this poem as my gift to you...

Where there is an ache
joy awaits
buried beneath nutrient rich soil
the throbbing heart
the homesickness
the want
is a reminder of what holds you
Here
Right here
Don’t forget...

Angela Minard©

Transformed

Transformed

I hold on in my sleep
clenched fists
awakening with aching fingers
empty hands...

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts," 

I think to myself
drifting back into the same nightmare...
footsteps heavy, looming shadows,
and then the comforting sound of
your voice calling my name

"It hurts," I whisper

as your gracefully opened palms
receive my falling tears
iridescent crystals
spilling through your familiar, outstretched fingers

"I will hold it for you," you repeat softly
until my eyes begin to flutter open

...and for awhile

this pain

beautifully transformed

Angela Minard 2017©

Returning

Returning

On this day

I give to you

Love 

as I know it

from what I have learned
along the way

My heart 

and what extends outward

seeking 

without knowing

Somehow holding you

always

in a warm embrace

On this day 

searching ends

We have returned...

Angela Minard 2016©

Artwork by Pier Toffoletti

Wanting

Wanting

The physical pain comes first

before memory

before wanting

searing flame

consuming all image

imagined...

When it hurts 

inside

now 

wanting 

you

before you

pain 

without 

want

This wanting

is a different ache

throbbing

from the same place

Why is the womb filled with rot? 

Do you ever wonder

or simply believe 

what you are told? 

"You smell 

like the filth that you are."

Could you please

wrap your arms around me

even with this stench?

Shame is

asking

Shame is 

telling

Shame is

Still 

Here

Wanting...

Angela Minard 2016©

Artwork from randiclark.com

Venus

Venus

I can't speak anymore

of truth

of pain

without my heart lurching 
into the hollow cave 
of my throat

I hear the reverberating echo

of hate

the bitter taste of poison 

on my lips

seething anger fills my belly

You talk and talk and talk

about nothing

while we all 

go hungry

Angela Minard 2016©

Artwork by annadittmann.tumblr.com

Wasted

If you close your eyes

am I no longer sitting before you

Can you wish me away

with these words you have heard before

stifling yawn after yawn 

like the wide open, endless yawn of time
wasted...

What good is trying to heal 

Continually ripping the bandage from the wound

too soon

As my silences lengthen

your eyelids flutter

the monotony of our conversations

growing as tiresome

as I am weary

Is this how you leave

or is this how I am leaving

Giving up on both of us 

before you can say goodbye

Angela Minard 2016©

Scream

Scream

Outside my window

the white sky is marbled 

with veins of charcoal

A winter sky in April

From far away

whispered thoughts

drift over the stillness of my body

Startled by the sound of my name being called

I listen intently

holding my breath

until I finally realize it is my own voice calling

Clamping my mouth tightly closed

I breathe purposefully through my nose

in 2,3,4

out 2,3,4,5

until the urge to scream disappears

Droplets of rain occasionally tap the window

as the lyrics to a song by The Clash plays in my head

on repeat...

"Should I stay or should I go
Should I stay or should I go now?"

The rhythm is more upbeat than I feel

I feel 

nothing

but still the question

without a clear answer

So I wait...

continuing to breathe

in 2,3,4,5

out, 2,3,4,5,6,7

I reach for my phone

find your number

wait for the sound

Of your voice 

and eventually 

I scream...

Angela Minard 2016©

Purgatory

Purgatory

When I was a child

 I would play the "breath holding" game with myself

It wasn't the kind of 

"breath holding to gain attention from parents" game

It was simply a challenge

How long could I deprive myself of air?

 life?

The strangest thing is that the longer you hold your breath

the more alive you feel

The heart beats even louder and more ferociously

The body warms and trembles to stay alive

until eventually the mouth flies open

like an ugly, gasping Piranah

an exhale that feels like failure

worn like shame...

As I grew up

breath holding evolved into food withholding

It was simply a challenge

How long could I deprive myself of food?

Long enough for my heart to beat erratically

for my muscles to cramp

 and to shiver all day

even in the summer

Feeling alive...

this slow act of suicide

How long could I press my fingers into my flesh

before I would feel the pain?

the belly I loathed dotted with perfect thumb sized bruises

Where is this poem leading?

to life?

death?

or somewhere

in between...

Angela Minard 2016©

Artwork~ "Hungry" by Leslie Ann O'Dell

Tiny Package

Tiny Package

I remember

this

beautiful containment

a neat and tiny package

buzzing numbness

almost like being alive

almost...

I'm tired of my own voice

messy and overflowing

spilling like sticky blood

 never to be washed away

closing my eyes

I reach my stained hands toward you

but I still see her

too much to hold

too much to love

I remember

this

beautiful containment... 

Angela Minard 2016©

Porcelain

Porcelain

Her heart...

imploding

exploding

there is no other way

escape is merely an illusion

but oh, how she tries

less than a whisper into the darkness

the shadows obscure certainty

tiny fists clutching monstrous deceptions

her heart holds it well

Wide eyes

 close

 open

close

open

as if made of porcelain

a vacant, blinking doll

The most beautiful treasures

are veiled

beneath harsh desert skies

like a mirage

resplendent

and yet seemingly unreachable

to love big

is to get small and quiet

until all you can hear

is the truth

Her heart...

imploding

exploding

there is no other way

Angela Minard 2016©