The way I have dealt with my traumas
Has varied.
They have moved as swiftly
As the seasons change,
And have always adapted to the current climate in which I live.

For a short while, I could pretend as though
Nothing happened.
I could pretend as though my pain was as
Invisible as their ability to love me,
And that I was as unaffected as
An old oak that has weathered storms past.

Then came my acceptance, and my fight.
I fought.
Hard.
To be seen, and heard, and believed.
But alas, this was not to be.
It was then I learned, that sometimes silence is what is needed
To weather a great storm.

Then came the talking.
With endless cups of coffee,
And whistles that glowed in the dark,
I learned what it truly meant to share my pain
With one that would not tell my secrets.
Who could not tell of the demons dancing throughout my head.
To truly learn that trust can
Also weather a great storm.

Finally, has come nothingness.
I try, desperately to forget the remaining threads that
Tether me to my memories,
Even when I still can’t sleep with my back away from a wall.
It is not a time I wouldn’t be keen to forget.
There is no storm worth remembering to weather.

There is no storm worth remembering.

Sometimes,
When the sun gets low,
And the stars and moon don’t seem to be hanging in the sky,
Taunting me with their ability to disappear into oblivion,
It can feel almost impossible to breathe.

While I know that being unable to breathe
Because there is nothing in the darkness to light my way
Is as about impossible as it is possible for me to love you again,
It is still my reality.

I know that my heart will never be open to the possibility of
surrendering itself so completely to you once more,
Just as well as I know that this weight on my chest isn’t real,
But it doesn’t make the feeling evaporate like water on a blisteringly hot day,
Or even on a slightly too warm for a jumper day.

The harshness of my condition has been taught to me
Like a bunny has been taught to hide
When the foxes stalk it’s way.
Even more so, the cures have been preached to me since
The moment I admitted I led a tormented existence,
And yet my existence has remained tormented.

Maybe this is my moment, my completely, impossible to ignore,
Unavoidable,
Moment.
To quiet those which torment me.
Which taunt me.
Which remind me,
I will never truly escape these chains
That hold me on the starless nights.

My depression is like
Laying in a bed of thorns.
Every move will punish me,
Scratches matching every fear and compulsion.
I wonder what it would be like
To not have this burden hanging,
Like an executioners axe just
Waiting to be swung.
I wonder what it would be like
To not be watching over my shoulder,
With anxiety clawing at my every movement.
I wonder what it would be like
To be in a room full of people
And to know that I am loved.
To not need them to express it,
Because I had nothing to make me doubt.
I wonder what it would be like
To feel anything at all,
Except this ache,
This numbness that seems to cushion
My fall.

My resting ***** face is my superpower,
That and my ability to survive.
But you can’t have one without the other,
My survival and my superpower walk hand in hand through the valley that is
“Sweetheart” men,
Kissy face men,
Will shout at you in the street men
And will say you were asking for it men.
You thought I wanted it?
Look at this ***** face,
And tell me I wanted it, *****.
I have learnt that the world will throw knives and snarls in my direction,
And a simple smile will not end this affection,
And so a resting ***** face ends that sort of *******.
Because suddenly, when you look like a woman who won’t take ****,
Men won’t give you ****.
When life gives you lemons,
Make a **** orange.
You won’t be given anything.
One day, I’m gonna tell my baby girl
“Remember, a resting ***** face is your superpower,
And you can do anything you put your mind to.”
I have survived everything that has come my way so far,
Me and my resting ***** face will rule this world.

I have known many men.
I have known kind men.
I have known sweet men.
I have known men
that scream 'not all men'.
I have known men
that are those men.
I cannot claim to have known all men,
but those that I know vary greatly.
I know good men.
I know gentle men.
But I have also known violent men,
Angry men,
men that make me want to rip my hair out
and men that did it to me.
So, while I know there is good,
I know all too well that there is bad.
I cannot change all men,
but I am sure that I will find a person
that does not need to change.
Until then,
I shall not be hurt by more men.

Do not be gentle with my mind.
I know that to move on
I must deal with my past.
My childhood.
The disorders.
The ****.
The trauma.
I know that to truly love
I have to move on.
Maybe I am not ready to love yet.