I take a deep breath The air is glass Slicing through my lungs I’m choking I lay my head down The bed is made of nails Piercing through my skin I’m weary I drift off to sleep Hands grab at me in the black Ripping at my sides I’m petrified I awake and grab...
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Trauma Stories
I Asked Them Not To Touch Me
“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” ~ Laurell K. HamiltonMy midwife first came to me and I asked for her, not to touch me. For I had recently been examined on admission and I was progressing as would be expected, for someone whose rhythms had been disrupted by the discomfort of driving to the hospital, and the...
And in this labyrinthThe hallways, they echoed and groanedCreatures that lurk in the darkThey keep watching, watching me drownWhy are they talking to me?What does it mean, who should I be?I think I’m paranoidMy hands are too shaky to holdI try real hard b...
Anonymous
To Purge
With grief comes trauma and then the purgeShock rushes through your very bones To rise and fall like waves of a restless sea Plunging your heart deep into the cavity of an abyss Where all those go – that are amiss You succumb to feeling numb The present now out of place No trace No hint...
Anonymous
Dad
Processing family trauma one poem at a time.“Can we pretend things are how they used to be?”Can I look for my own reflection instead of yours in the mirror? The moments between heartbeats are the only ones your voice doesn’t follow. I can no longer hear affection after seeing your rage. Listening m...
If you embrassed my heart, It wouldn't shatterIf you caressed my essence,It wouldn't splatter Broken; Am I no longer I've learned to live darknessDays pass as I grow strongerI am comforted by my own stillness Resilence with styleHumored with a sharp ton...
She is cracked and dryShards of whatShould be.Empty air does not live here,A harsh lit space of nothingnessWhere blinding whiteScours reject sidesAnd spears of brokenStab the world.The winds of voicesFlow on pastUnheard.There is no soil or waterBound to t...
Untitled
Relantionship; Post-TraumaI open my eyes to the harsh sunlight, proudly beaming through my windowIt doesn't cleanse away the dread or mundane sorrowPushing greasy hair away from my faceWalk out the door, down the steps, repressing my failure to communicate From down the street, yo...
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Beware of Barefooting: a cautionary tale
About the close encounter of the worst kind between my bare foot and a pile of chicken manureOver on a web site for the blind I often infest, someone said the recently passed first day of May, in addition to being May Day and Beltane, had also been something called ‘Barefoot Day’. To this I felt compelled to reply as follows, sort of:As for that...
No More Games
Vinny hates playing games, but Alice keeps trying anyways.“Let’s play!” she says to me, tugging at my hand. I shake my head, planting my feet firmly and yanking my arm free from her slim fingers. Alice frowns at me, before shrugging and running towards the large playground. Alice always asks me to play with her,...