Wolffe's Ways

This was originally 'designated to me' by an ex-boyfriend in high school who essentially thought I was the the bad man apparently... I guess I was just an evil woman or something. But the truth is this song is about someone who has been through serious abuse, looking out behind blue eyes, who doesn't dare to take chances at true intimacy. They look for it as hard as ever but they can't risk it. But they beg for it in some part of themselves. And that is in some sense true of me. I want it, I seek it, and I withdraw from it all at the same time. It takes a long time to really know me. Some people will think they do and yet, they only know what they see reflected back at them. Why? Because I can be a mirror. I'm not playing games, there aren't 'lots of masks of me' as it were but there are times when I am a blank. And it is scary even to me. I am genuine but I am also, simply... Not there. I don't tell lies like the person in this song, I'm not saying things to get what I want but I am creating my reality. And I think that is true of any person who has survived abuse, and I think we try as hard as possible to recreate it to put a spin on it we can live with. This is the story of Behind Blue Eyes. So when Todd left me with this song as my own, I don't think he knew what he was doing. It fits, in a very sad, a very powerful way it fits. But I am growing all the time, becoming more.And yes I do believe in vengeance. I believe in it wholeheartedly. Hel, Heathenry has Deities dedicated to the concept of delivering it. So it's the perfect religion for survivors of abuse. I tell myself regularly, I will not swallow the bitter pill, I am a survivor. I will become more than my mere programing.I am a survivor. I will continue to survive, I will not only survive, I will excel.I am more than anyone thought I could become I am, I am going to be better, faster, smarter than anyone expected. I am a survivor.

( lyrics ensue )

I wrote this at Open Mic last night. There was a woman reading a poem about her wonderful memories of playing with her grandma when she was a child, pre-stroke, and somehow or another it triggered this poem. I'm not exactly sure what it says about me. Maybe it means that my childhood memories just suck shit. I don't know. But here you go... My memories about my sister. Yup.

We used to dance together
to draw and fight, pretend,
become other than two sisters;
for just a moment or two
here and there--
we used to be friends
once upon a time--
What happened?
When did it become
a contest of wills?
When did anger rule the day?
When did you become
my abuser?
We used to be sisters,
our parents left us alone together
trusting in the bond of love
meant to hold us together beyond blood--
We used to share our dreams,
talk to each other,
give back to each to each
not just walk side by side
because we were forced by parents
with no depth of understanding--
They came from a time
when love flowed like water between siblings;
hearts were open
and words spoken were meant--
Finding a war waged within their home
sometimes in invisible ways--
What must it have meant for them?
Can I blame them for not wanting to see?
Yes.
Because they never believed--
Believe the world of a child,
each and every child;
don't pick and choose.
Believe--
They aren't items or animals
one better than the other--
Believe.
We used to play in the sunshine,
we used to imagine a better world,
we used to share our hopes, our dreams.
Before you found a different way,
where threats and pain
became our everyday reality--
We used to be sisters.
Written by, Ayla Wolffe©2008

I have noticed that an awful lot of my poems over the years have had a martial theme to them. Even when I have been opposed to war, I tended to encompass the scents or sounds of them very viscerally... And I never can keep from the theme for long. It seems to almost haunt me in a way. I think it is part of being a survivor of abuse, I carry some private war within my breast as it were.

A shout
was heard
as the blood
began to spill
(it ran
like rain):
fear and pain
were in the air
as the battle raged.
When it was
all over
you could hear
the sad refrain
of women
and children
calling out
for fathers and husbands lost.
When no-one came
their cries
were heard
again and again,
echoing...
Then the bell
began to toll
its mournful message
of death
and destruction--
When all
was said and done,
bodies cleared
and buried,
no-one really won.
There came a time
of Peace on Earth
again.
How long
will it last,
when
will war break out
again?
Written by, Ayla Wolffe(sometime in the eighties)©2008

I honestly am not sure when I wrote this... Maybe High School... Maybe during my marriage. I get a sense it was sometime on the edge of that period but not sure. At that point my sense of self was pretty mutable.I honestly think I must have been married at this time, this poem screams emotional abuse, though I could have been talking about my sister here too. Gods only know.

Looking in the mirror,
I see a young woman
looking back at me.
When did it happen,
when did the child
become the woman?
Looking in the mirror,
I see a confused
young woman
staring back at me.
Do they see
how confused I am,
can they tell
I'm afraid?
Looking in the mirror
I see a young woman
confused
and afraid.
Can they tell
how I feel?
Looking in the mirror,
I see a young woman
smiling
back at me.
Written by, Ayla Wolffe(sometime in the eighties)©2008