Erudite

Erudite by Valerie Parente

I went to hell and back,
studying my mental turmoil,
started as a kid with a task,
to get attention from the whole world.

When you’re a confused teen,
you feel so damn invisible,
then one special boy sees,
that’s when life got difficult.

I was always obsessive in nature,
and my imagination was a priority,
a perfectionist that was insecure,
so I excessively daydreamed.

I had talent back then,
but I didn’t use it for good,
I delved in sickness instead,
when one boy no longer looked.

Ten years gone, ten years dismissing,
that’s what the anorexia did,
ten years studying, ten years witnessing,
all the trauma adolescence inflicted.

It was circumstantial and biochemical,
and now I finally understand,
if there was any hope for normal,
I sure as hell didn’t stand a chance.

Now I’m a young woman with a pen,
and I’ve examined my psyche well,
as an expert on where I’ve been,
I make art in the name of mental health.

Believe it or not,
I wouldn’t change any single thing,
all the anguish I fought,
it helped me see another dimension.

There’s compassion in the stories I write,
there’s understanding behind each phrase,
there’s a past that helps me empathize,
there’s a purpose that will never go away.

I no longer think in terms of “me”,
I see your conscience and its fight,
my every move doesn’t need to be seen,
but I’ll shed light if it helps your life.

This is our world to better,
we are the children of the moon,
using psychology we study together,
out of the lunacy we’ve been through.

I’m going to nurture someone, someday,
in a cycle I finally want to be part of,
and that sentient bundle can embrace,
a worldview where mental health is honored.

– Valerie Parente (5-22-2021)

Seraphic Daydreams

Seraphic Daydreams by Valerie Parente

Hope has always been so much bigger than the pain and the recovery,
Seraphic daydreams have always been the predominant part of me,
An ideal reality I blew into the air, as natural as the wind,
but I worried about the intrusive thoughts that persist,
and the truth is, you can think all you want,
but it’s belief in the heart…
that is the real charge.
I do not fear my demonic OCD fixations anymore,
because I know they don’t represent my angelic core.

– Valerie Parente (5-10-2021)

Third Poetry & Prose Collection

Do you want to own a hard copy of my latest poetry?
My third poetry and prose collection is currently in the works and includes fan favorites such as:

Not Bionic
These Laurels Were Never Meant To Rest
The Spider Princess
Material Girl
Seascape

Like Fine China
Poetry: Sight and Sound
Fishnets
Pamper Yourself

Celestial Being

…and over 150 more pieces!

Make sure to Follow this blog, valerieparente.com, to stay up to date for the new book release!

The Owl Mind

The Owl Mind by Valerie Parente

Nocturnal under the moonlight,
with visions of horror,
so many fears when it becomes night,
like a bad dream in color.

Intrusive images play in rotations,
amplified by the dark,
wide-eyed in your fixations,
as you perform your thoughts.

Something about the evening,
the howls elongate and stretch,
so foreboding like a demon,
so much worse when the sun sets.

Vigilant on treetops like a tower,
is it paranoia or being wise?
Everything is scarier after hours,
and yes, that includes my mind.

The owl mind is exhausting,
the owl mind you can’t trust,
but there is no other option,
dark will always follow dusk.

– Valerie Parente (3-31-2021)

Moonlight

Moonlight by Valerie Parente

I used to be haunted,
at the mercy of the night,
but now the night lives in me,
so I manipulate the moonlight.

I used to see ghosts,
trapped in space and time,
but now I see this reality,
without the irrational fright.

I know I obsess in phases,
and that gave me the insight,
that fixations are not fixed,
they’re just a state of mind.

Like water that flows,
as the moon controls the tide,
moods always come and go,
that’s just a part of life.

I am more than my mental state,
I am a body with moonlight inside,
call it energy, call it a soul,
call it proof of a spiritual kind.

– Valerie Parente (2-28-2021)

There Is A Reason

There Is A Reason by Valerie Parente

Contrary to popular belief
I did not choose this pain,
it chose me.

I did not choose to fixate,
my mind was already made.
I did not choose to restrict,
it was in my genetics.

I did not throw my life away on that fateful day in ninth grade,
it was meant to happen to teach me about compassion when you rise from the ashes.
I was predisposed to every mental hoax so that my soul could know true spiritual growth.

– Valerie Parente (2-1-2021)

Spellbound (Analysis)

Spellbound Analysis

A major project I have been working on in 2020 and 2021 is a fantasy series (to be completed). The poem Spellbound is not part of this series, but it is inspired by the same artistic process I’ve been using to write my dark little fairy tale. This process consists of me translating my mental struggles into fantastical terms and motifs. I was thinking to myself about the obsessive nature of falling in love or falling into fascination with a person, place, or thing as someone with OCD. It is an experience more negative and toxic than it is positive and enjoyable. And it’s something I get called “crazy” for a lot, so I wanted to write a poem in my own little self-aware way as a hypothetical rebuttal to anybody that weaponizes my OCD against me. With that in mind I started to refer to the that mind-altering moment when I fall into fixation with something as a “spark”. This spark, something that many people feel with “love at first sight”, is always exciting at its inception. In the mirrored fantasy version of my psyche the spark is, quite literally, “magic”. That spark has proven since I was a teenager to always end badly though, and that’s why Spellbound describes the origin of this spell as a blessing from a witch that has gone awry. “[She] struck my heart, but must have missed […] because I feel it in my brain.” This whole concept of feeling love in the brain instead of the heart is, well, at the heart of my experience with obsessive compulsive disorder. It’s a trick. It’s a gift gone wrong. It’s not the magical feeling that one feels in heart, it’s obsession, and that is the difference between OCD and real authentic love. One is felt in the brain, and one is felt in the heart. The one felt in the brain is a toxic version of the latter. And I’m no fool to how that spell has manipulated the way I handle social situations in the past.

Spellbound carries on to describe three stage of obsession in rhymes. First the excitement, second the longing, and last the devastation. This is pretty self-explanatory of how OCD feels in any brain that feels the initial “spark”. Then the poem finishes off in a closing stanza about the repetitive nature of the OCD cycle. OCD fixations happen in the following order: Obsession, Compulsion, a feeling of Relief, and then starts over with a new Obsession. This model for the mental disorder was directly referenced when writing the last stanza. The reason I even thought to write this poem was mainly due to the sentiment expressed in the last line, “It never works out and I get worse. A brand new spell with the same hurt.” This is where my frustration comes in, because I do truly feel like falling in love for most people is like a spell, but its a magical experience that is innately positive. I don’t feel that way as someone with OCD. This positive experience that seems so great for everyone else always goes wrong for me because of the way my brain malfunctions in an obsessive compulsive manner. I thought about this recently because I started to feel a new spark, and it was fantastic, but I shut it down as quick as possible. I just don’t have the energy or will to be spellbound again. Not now, at least. Someday I’ll figure out how to be spellbound in my heart instead of my brain, but that day is not today. I’ll stick to exploring psychological phenomena with a rhythmic fantasy backdrop for now.

You can read my poem, Spellbound, here.

– Valerie Parente (1-29-2021)

Spellbound

Spellbound by Valerie Parente

Spellbound cycles, I go,
like magic, not neuro-typical.
As if I’ve been blessed by a witch
ever since I was a little kid.
She gave me a strange kind of gift
struck my heart, but must have missed.
I become enchanted, but it’s strange
because I feel it in my brain.
Spellbound, that’s what I call it.
That’s my crazy way of falling.

At first sight, there’s a spark
and that serves as the mark
that I will always reference
to justify my obsessiveness.
Second stage, there’s the longing
clinging on to every moment
reading too much as I read minds
gradually making a mess of mine.
Third stage, the gut punch
usually after years, not months.
I can’t eat or sleep, I just cry
and every time I nearly die.

Then it all starts over again
the random spark, and I’m obsessed.
I don’t know how others fall
feeling the magic of it all
entranced in such a good sense
when my trance feels hellbent.
It always starts out exciting,
to realize I can feel something
but it turns into a special kind of hell
where I can’t separate from the spell.
There’s never a justification
for that inexplicable fascination.
It just strikes, and I’m weak
blood rushing at its peak.
But it never works and I get worse.
A brand new spell with the same hurt.

– Valerie Parente (1-28-2021)

A Little Sympathy Would Be Nice

A Little Sympathy Would Be Nice by Valerie Parente

I think a lot about my past
but that doesn’t mean I want it back.
My brain was wrongly designed
to dwell on former times,
getting caught on the same loops
and I know that gets you confused.
I don’t want the same things,
but that’s what my conscience brings.
If you find that weird
then imagine how I feel.
OCD is like a chronic bad habit,
a royal jester playing old tricks
and when its trying to fool you
just know it tried to fool me too.

– Valerie Parente (1-18-2021)

Art Without Fame

Art Without Fame by Valerie Parente

Artistic displays without God-like fame gets you weird looks.
Promiscuous fashion without hollow passion gets you unsold books.
Poetic mindsets without a publisher’s subtext gets you ridiculed.
Free expression without others’ discretion gets you verbal abuse.
Because it’s okay to feel hurt
as long as you have a following
and it’s okay to create stories
as long as you’re not being honest
but the moment you draw from your real life
without the public’s hype
that’s when they call you the bad guy;
Because art without fame is just the diary of a lunatic.
Love without a mate gets you deemed the psycho chick.
And this is not a complaint, just a reminder that I’m aware of it.
So bid me your hate, I’m already immune to it.

I’ve learned to accept that when you merge intellect with fishnets
as a way to project an explicit mindset and mental health awareness
you’ll get teased by the rest but I’m okay with that test
because I’ve overcome too much stress against the odds of my illness
to still give a fraction of a shit.

– Valerie Parente (1-12-2021)