Tara M

My name is Tara. I’m twenty-one and from Manitoba, Canada. I have been harming off and on for the last seven years, mostly in the last year and a half, since the loss of my infant daughter Haylee, due to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

A Bipolar Nightmare

Copyright, Tara M

one day up, one day down.
or a week at a time, or
even a month or two
up equals happiness!
invincibility, elation. nothing
can go wrong! things are
always better than ever before.
parties, friends, work – everything
is going great.
and then… like a freak storm
i deflate, like a sick balloon.
all at once, the elation, happiness,
invincibility – are all gone.
devoid, barren, numbness, depression.
don’t talk to me, i’m a walking
time bomb. anything can set me off.
don’t want to talk to anyone,
barely able to go to work.
everything sucks! it’s like weather.
sunny, happy days, suddenly
marred by horrible, devastating
storms, pain raining all around.
then, just as suddenly – the sun
breaks through, the clouds
disperse – like the down phase
never happened.
an emotional roller coaster.
just like weather – unpredictable,
and you never know the harm
it can do, that inevitable storm.
a bi-polar nightmare.


Copyright, Tara M

i lay on the floor
fearing sleep, and
the pictures that
accompany my
un-peaceful repose.
i see my darling daughter
laying beside me on
the funny colourful sheet
so still, stiff, white…
i hear the shrieks
frantic screams for Haylee…
is that my voice?
my screams?
i hear the doorbell
over and over
i hear the ambulance
honk three times
see the man in my face
as they carry my
baby’s lifeless body out
the front door and to
the ambulance, behind him
i hear that man telling me
she might be okay, when
i’m not stupid, i know she’s gone.
i fear waking up and
feeling the bed next to me,
making the horrifying discovery every day
that no, i didn’t dream it all –
she really is gone.
and then i cry. i miss my baby.


Copyright, Tara M

my pain hurts worse than ever…
cut cut slice slice
watch the stress drip out with the blood
like bright red thick tears
flowing from my skin
cuz there are no more tears
to flow from my eyes
or my soul…
my scars represent what i am,
what i feel,
my form of self-expression…
though it’s not a good form,
it helps for the moment.
my scars represent all that i
cannot release vocally
to you
to them
to him or her
to the doctor
the therapist…
no one understands but me,
don’t want to bring everyone else
down with what i’m feeling.
bottle it inside,
only to have it release itself
in the worst of ways.

Remember Me?

Copyright, Tara M

i was your friend,
remember me?
i was your daughter, you sister,
your neice, and your mother.
remember me?
i remember me, then like an
earth-wracking hurricane,
a new me replaced the me i was.
a mere shell of my
former self. hollow black cave,
filled with unmentionable
heart-wrenching agony, angst.
a never-ending cave, one no one
dares venture within.
don’t bother; i am not there.
the one i was – gone, long gone.
you may find shattered shards
of hope and happiness, but alas,
they are unreparable.
put them together! they break
before your very eyes.
but there are other shards as well,
sharp and torrid black-tar.
piece them together and you have
the remnants of my life.
it is shaped like death, obscure
abstract, nonsense.
never will you retrieve the
one i was.
she is dead.
and i am not a mother any longer.
that me is dead. rotted away. dust.


Permanent location: