Time and time again I give up
I stop ignoring what happened
I relive the memories
Each time this happens
I feel a part of me begin to fade away
My soul is filled with holes from times like these
They can’t be seen and they never heal
The thing about PTSD
Is that it can’t be undone
It can’t be forgotten
We come in all shapes, sizes, colours
The thing about victims of ****** abuse is
We would be tremendous bird houses.