Trauma wasn’t just a word for someone like me
Like vines with thorns, the memories cut me, wrapping me in utter vulnerability
People say I've had a good life and I have it better than the boy who was hit last week
But what about the girl I used to be, hiding with the monsters because humans scared me
The word trauma is what people use when something is uncovered or discovered
But over time it loses meaning, becoming stale like left out bread
Because people who throw the word around think people who hide from the vines are actually fine
When we are running from not only the demons in our minds but the light of reality
Suffocating with bad habits to keep the memories locked and not for a rainy day
But so we can finally get a moment of peace in this ****** up masterpiece-
That we call reality
I wish I could go back to when instead of thorns there was rose buds growing with me
But they were cut and protective lies surrounded the oh so fragile identity
My mind a graveyard of what it could've been if not for unfortunate events following me
The lies are spilled not just because I'm scared but it's hard to open up when all I've done is lock away any truths that could lay me bare
Like a scab I pick at the wound, the feeling unnerving and almost deserving, like a silver shine pressing another line, ending in a numbing relief
Pain distracts from the others that are greater, because how the hell do I breathe with no oxygen
Crimson brings me back, the sting is the oxygen I crave, guilt and shame will take a minute to scream.
Oh I just wanted to be free.