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I said no to drugs once.
I looked a bag of **** right in the face
and, like a loving but firm father,
I said, "No."
I was really high.
Trauma triggers you
to be highly alert
to look for danger
at every turn

Oppression is cruel
and wounds the spirit
The truth about trauma
it has no limits

You may get labeled
Anxious or depressed
The truth about trauma
it never rests

It doesn’t have to be
through an accident, war or abuse
The truth about trauma
can be what didn’t happen for you

Neglect and rejection
cause tremendous pain
The truth about trauma
it leaves an invisible stain

Labels like low self concept
or insecure
Discount the truth about trauma
and the pain we endured

If you weren’t nurtured
and basic needs weren’t met
The truth about trauma
it changes our mindset

We believe we aren’t good enough
or permanently scarred
The truth about trauma
perception’s impaired

We are not damaged goods
no flawed character traits
The truth about trauma
doesn’t have to seal our fate

By reconnecting the mind, body
and soul
we uncover the truth about trauma
and reclaim the life that it stole
10/14/18. Don’t get me wrong as a survivor of childhood trauma I understand the simplicity of this poem and how it only scratches the surface and doesn’t even come close to representing the intricacies and deep emotional affects of trauma. Sending <3 to all who can relate.
Loneliness
Alone
Surrounded
Loud sounds
Whispers
Light
Darkness
Cold
Warm
The mind
Sometimes everything seems the same
 Sep 2020 Lost in Thought
A
Depression does not always mean
Beautiful girls shattering at the wrists,
A glorified, heroic battle for your sanity,
Or mothers that never got the chance to say good-bye.

Sometimes depression means
Not getting out of bed for three days,
Because your feet refuse to believe
That they will not break upon impact with the ground.

Sometimes depression means
That summoning the willpower,
To go downstairs and do the dishes,
Is the most impressive thing you accomplish all week.

Sometimes depression means
Faking a smile
To those who ask if you're alright,
Because it's the most convincing mask you can wear.

Sometimes depression means
Lying on the floor staring at the ceiling for hours,
Because you can't convince your mind and body
That they're capable of movement.

Sometimes depression means
Not being able to write poetry, or anything, for weeks,
Because the only words you have to offer the world
Are trapped and drowning and I swear I'm trying.

Sometimes depression means
That every single bone in your body aches,
But you have to keep going through the motions,
Because calling into work depressed isn't allowed.

Sometimes depression means
Ignoring every phone call for a month,
Because yes, they have the right number,
But you're not the person they're calling for, not anymore.
I wrote this poem a couple months ago and I found it in my old journal.  I thought I could share it on here, so here it is.  Thank you for taking the time to read my poem.  Xoxo ~ Avery
Woken up at 1:00am
Dad's screaming
Swearing
Punching
Grabs me and shakes me
Why is he doing this?
What did I do wrong?
Confused more than I've ever been
Mom comes in
Grabs dad
Tells him to stop
Dad gets angrier
Throws things
Hole in the wall
Mom's crying
Tears drop to the floor
Tells dad he's a monster
A lunatic
She runs out of the room
Dad tears blankets away
Tells me I need to grow up
And I still don't even know what I've done
Now there's a hole in me
And it's irreparable
It's too big to fix
Fear, sadness, regret,
All eating away at me
And I wonder to myself
Is it even worth it to be alive?
Could I just end it all this very moment?
Would my parents even care?
All I want to do is make them happy, proud
Yet I've torn them apart
Made them hate me
All I'm thinking now is
"Lord forgive me, help me redeem myself for what I've done"
But I'm scared
Scared because I don't think I'll ever be able to fix this
This hole might just be too big and too deep
This blemish will stick with me forever
 Apr 2017 Lost in Thought
A
DISCLAIMER*
I wrote this a very long time ago and it wasn't originally a poem!  I just separated it into sections so it was in a more poem-like format.  I felt like it had emotion behind it, so I decided to post it.  Here's the "poem" -



It really hurts.  
It hurts like hell.  
It's hurts more than a thousand needles piercing my skin.  

It's a sinking feeling.  
A sinking feeling in my stomach, in my heart.  
I don't know what to believe anymore.  My mind tells me one thing and my heart tells another.  

I'm at war with myself, and I'm completely losing.  I've lost myself.  Utterly, and almost completely.  

I can smile, I can laugh.  But that's only when I forget.  And as soon as I remember, I'm knocked right back down again.  And no one seems to care.  No one cares enough to ask.  

Because, who cares about ME?  None of my friends, none of my family.  It's hell on Earth, because I know it's not their job to notice!  It's my job to tell them!  

But I'm petrified.  I'm scared I'll disappoint them.  Make them run away.  Make them think I'm weird.  Make them feel like I've gone crazy.  

Maybe that's it.  
Maybe I've gone completely crazy!
But who cares anymore?
Definitely not myself.
I really debated whether or not to post this, because I wrote it a very long time ago, but I felt like it had emotion behind it, so I'm posting it.  Love, Avery.
There are no right answers.
The sky rejects the birds, turns them
over to gravity,
embedding them in the concrete and dirt.
The grit refuses to become a pearl,
just as the wound refuses to heal
and the flesh eats itself.
The market sees a sudden spike in
sales of Champagne and cyanide.
Coordinated efforts seek and fail
to curtail the rising tide of violence
in the nation's dreaming.
You realise that this crude, barbaric language
that you can't understand
is your own.
Beauty glitches and pixelates.
Frightened, furtive confessions of love
are unheard over proud, visceral
proclamations of hate.
Tongues divorce mouths.
Every now and then, a voice
inside your head says,
'Thud.'
The measures of sanity become
more quantifiable and
totally arbitrary.
The horizon
tightens
like
a noose.

It doesn't matter if this is wrong.
There are no right answers.
Spoken Word Video: https://youtu.be/wGxRvuMWCig
I've got my head in the clouds
How is that a bad thing?
My thoughts are so far from the ground
And maybe they'll touch my dreams

I could stare at the sky
Put neon graffiti on the lazy moon
I could put a symphony with a sunrise
And I still don't think that'd be as beautiful as waaah I'm rambling over a truth

Maybe my hair could be nested in by eagles
Or my tears could fill up clouds for rain
Or all of this could come crashing down because I'm over eager
And I'll end up tasting the sandpapery wine of pain


So maybe having my head in the clouds,
Isn't exactly a prefect thing
But if it's where I belong
Then I'll next a new set of wings
 Sep 2016 Lost in Thought
Cesca
Being alone is perfect,
To avoid being rejected.

Alone is fun,
So you can pull out a gun.

Scissors, razors and knives are dangerous.
But why is my wrist looking fabulous?

Medicine can cure you from sickness,
But can also give you happiness.

Yes, alone can be something.
But really? I'm doing everything.
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