The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

New poem: Perspectives August 24, 2011

Hello all.  Today I’m taking another risk of sorts.  I wrote a poem yesterday that I want to spotlight here as its own blog entry, rather than just adding it to the poetry page, which I will still do later, but for right now I want to share this in its own right.  The risk I referred to involves limiting this particular piece of work to only contests or calls for submission that allow previously published works, because by posting it here, I am technically publishing it. 


So anyway.  This particular poem is not autobiographical, although the idea for it came from my personal experience of losing my temper with my child, which is something I very much hate, but it happens.  Anybody who has a child and says they haven’t ever lost their temper with that child is still waiting for the epidural to wear off.  Also, I was talking with my cousin’s daughter on Facebook, where she had posted a status about hating poetry.  Her college professor had assigned a poem to be written with certain words and perspectives in it, which is where the title of this poem comes from.  It also touches upon themes of poverty, loneliness, hunger, and mental illness.  So here it is.  Be warned.  You will  might cry.  If you do, I’m sorry.


Under a table
hides a young boy,
battered and beaten
a broken toy.

Across the room
a mama cries,
the hurting, the hitting,
the pain in her eyes.

Between the two
survives a bond
for love and forgiveness
to build upon.

Around them both
the empty walls
the echoing silence
the desolate halls.

Beside the chair
where the mama weeps
a bottle of medicine
that helps her sleep.

Nights stretch endless
when she can’t NOT think.
In desperation
she picks up a drink.

And in the morning
her little son begs
for biscuits and gravy
or bacon and eggs.

Behind the fridge door
there’s nothing he wants.
His hungry eyes taunt her,
his wailing voice haunts.

Until she can’t take it,
endurance worn thin,
her hand lands the blows
again and again.

He runs for a safe place.
She drops into a chair.
Again her heart shatters
for the pain they both bear.

Desperate to hold him,
she calls to her boy
hiding under the table,
like a broken toy.

But he follows her voice
and she clasps his small form
and clings to her child,
a lifeline in a storm.

Through tears she says she’s sorry
and that she loves him so.
He snuggles closer to her
and says, “Mommy, I know.”

DD: 08/23/11 9:07am


Until next time,


Please share your reactions and your own stories in comments!


An Off-Road Side Trip to Bizarro-World (Part Deux) April 26, 2010

Hello all.  Remember that post I wrote about the nice evening with RMB and him helping me clean the kitchen and feeling for one evening like we were a warm and cozy family again?  Well today I experienced Round 2 of that odd evening, only it was with The Dufus instead of RMB!! 

I picked him up after church.  We were going to go to WalMart and get my stupid tire fixed, but I had decided before I ever went to go pick him up that I was going to take him to lunch with me and the kids.  They needed time with him, and I felt lunch would be a good opportunity for that.  So we went to what RMB and his friends call “Scary Chicken,” which is their stupid, made-up nickname for a local restaurant called Prairie Kitchen.  The kids had a really good time talking and visiting with him, and to be honest, I did too.  I think what I really enjoy is how well we get along together now, because we’re just friends.  I don’t have to live with him or put up with his temper anymore.   This is going to sound extremely petty, but I think I just enjoy proving how much more pleasant I am than his wife! 

Anyway, we went to WalMart afterwards, and it was going to take 3 hours before they could get to my car, so I decided to just go ahead and get him home.  I switched cars with Mom so I didn’t have to worry about my tire going flat and getting stuck on the road or in Comanche somewhere.  Then we hit the road.  We talked about a lot of different things, and much of it was probably me preaching and lecturing about how he could improve his relationship with his wife and how he could tone down fights and reduce anger.  (All my counseling is paying off!) 

It felt somewhat weird, but nice, because he didn’t seem to mind my advice and suggestions.  He seemed like he really needed the help, and I was glad to offer it.  We finally made it to his house.  He went straight to his wife and gave her a long hug and a kiss.  The kids and I only stayed for a minute.  After the kids had given everybody hugs, I kind of took his hand in a buddy clasp, gave him a “behave yourself” look and told him to be good.  They thanked me for bringing him back and I told them it was no big deal.

On the way home, Daughter J. was listening to her ipod and we were singing.  One particularly sad song just sort of made these montages of pictures of me and The Dufus, and Me and RMB start playing in my mind.  I felt a touch of nostalgia and wondered why we couldn’t have gotten along so well ten years ago, and where we might be now if we had.  But then I just nipped it in the bud, because that was then and this is now, and there is no point in wondering why things turned out this way, because they just did.  I know that everything has a purpose.  And the most important thing I know, lest anybody think I’m all wishing I had him back, is that he really hasn’t changed at all, and I’m very glad I’m not stuck with him if he’s going to be the way he is. 

So anyway.  I’m just glad I was able to help him out.  I’m not entirely saintly, because the more stable his life is, the more likely I am to get child support.  I enjoyed the opportunity to spend time with him again, just us and the kids.  It was a nice moment, if bittersweet. 

The past is past.  Here’s to the future!

Until next time,



The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Shawn L. Bird

Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.


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