Hello Poetry is a poetry community that raises money by advertising to passing readers like yourself.

If you're into poetry and meeting other poets, join us to remove ads and share your poetry. It's totally free.
This title could have been different,
Damaged by a doctor came to mind,
But in the end and without your consent
I chose your name, not to be unkind.

It needs to be there loud and clear,
For all the damage you left me with,
You will probably never know or care,
For the damage you left me with.

The outburst of rage right in my face,
In a hospital of all places,
Labelling me a manipulative liar,
A cruel, attention seeking waste of space

I am aware now that you were sick,
And for that I do not hold against you,
But what you did to me has grown and grown,
It has grown to the point where I hate you.

For now I dont know who I am,
I question my memories, my very existence,
You broke my confidentiality,
Spoke to my abusers without my consent.

I have had similar done before,
And yes from the same profession;
But that was out of sheer ignorance,
And the persuasive ways of the Exclusive Brethren.

He was a GP and I complained,
I received an apology, and I have now accepted,
I dont hold any grudges against him now,
I know how the Brethren can be very deceptive.

But you are more than a mere GP
You are supposed to be an expert,
An expert in Psychiatry
So your views remain - people tend to trust experts.

The thing is now I distrust myself,
You took away my sense of self,
You took away my identity,
You took away at this point - my entire family.

I do not blame you for all my issues,
Abuse from narcissists is very deceptive,
But by playing into the hands of my abusers,
You have taken away every desire I had to live.

I knew not that you were ill back then,
I left the country in a hurry,
I ran away from the pain and confusion you caused,
I ran away back to my  only "trusted" family.

The scar you left me with is still open and raw,
And now I have yet another,
In fact as time passes I have more and more,
The scar first inflicted by my mother.

Now the wound is inches deep,
And of course there are more,
There are the ones I have to create myself,
To take away the pain, and everything else.

The scar you left will never fade,
Now I firmly believe the words you spat,
In that chair right into my face,
On the hospital bed I sat.

I believe im evil and cruel,
I believe that for everything I am to blame,
I believe I deserved everything I got,
And what i'll never forget - is your name.

Now I question almost everything,
I dont know who I am,
I certainly do not trust anymore,
I dont know how  can...

Did the assault really happen?
I ask myself every day,
Because of the words you put in my head,
They are there to stay.

Your conclusions on me reached ST Helena,
So I was viewed with suspicion from many,
By those who were supposed to help me,
Not just from my family.

Although you have taken them too,
For yes, dont worry they now believe you,
They were what I had left,
Apart from the abusive few.

Your views fuelled my peoples attitude,
To ****** assault towards women,
It existed already of course,
But you gave them more reason to blame women.

I am completely alienated,
I have nobody and nothing left,
You took away my sanity,
And he...took away the rest.

I came close with the help of **** Crisis,
To taking this to court,
But of course these things are mishandled,
He was told but a free man until court.

He hung himself, thats what he did,
To avoid facing the shame, blame and hate,
The exact same as what us women face,
For him - with death its too late.

My people take this somewhat differently,
As what other British people might do,
They see this as yet another reason,
To say its something he didnt do.

This adds yet another dimension
To what you left me with,
How on earth am I supposed to know.
If it was real, what he left me with.

I dont trust myself, I trust no one else,
Due to that experience with you,
I have such a deep seated hatred for myself,
I now speak to only very few.

You took away even my Nationality,
For I am no longer Saint or even British,
I have seen enough in South Africa,
I have realised that I am no longer British.

For what you have done is make me feel safe
In somewhere burdened heavily with rapists ,
And for that very reason,
There are many people I can associate with.

A place of **** and ******
Is now my safe haven,
From St Helena to South Africa,
Who would ever have known.

There I am able to trust,
But here - no never again,
You have left me with such a deep wound,
When im here I just feel insane.

Now the tears fall again,
As I write this stupidly long rhyme,
But I cannot keep it inside,
Its all building up over time.

Because of you im not trusted either,
By anyone in the medical service,
Im treated with suspicion,
In fact im not treated at all by the service.

So I suffer alone with pain and distress,
Not knowing whats true and what isnt,
Not wanting to be seen by anyone,
Feeling like a total delinquent.  

You see what im trying to say,
Is that you damaged me MORE THAN A ******,
You misused your powers,
You abused my trust.

I wish I could get you out of my mind,
Because now all I can do is hurt more,
Just keep hurting myself,
To take away what I cannot ignore.

I could write so much more but wont,
I will just say one thing more..
I feel so sorry for Glasgow,
Glasgow deserves so much more.  

You could work here no longer,
And so that should be,
But does Glasgow not have enough problems?
Why now should these people suffer like me?????

........by Nomkhumbulwa.
One of the causes of many of my issues......thats all I can say.  Sorry.
Amanda 3d
How come all my best and worst nights
Lead straight to you?
Impacting every moment had
With small things you do.

You have stood behind me proud as I
Won or lost battles and fought wars
Made special memories brighter
Just calling me yours.

You've also been the reason
I've been tempted by suicide
You've witnessed darkest parts
My worst and stayed by my side.

You've taught the most painful lessons
But also showed beauty they hold
Warmed long Winter days
Struck my heart with touch so cold.

You have been the villian of my story
Far more than hero
Brought me higher than birds fly
Then right back to zero.

Some of the best nights had
Happened solely thanks to you
You made good days great
Better than you knew.

Although you have bestowed infinite pain
Hurt me in ways I knew not existed
I adore the hand holding the knife
You buried in my back and twisted.

How are you my favorite person
When I hate the things you have done?
You are soulmate, colleague, enemy, lover,
Rival, best friend, partner, foe, all rolled into one.
Both my best dreams and worst nightmares involve the same people?
Shannon Oct 15
My baby.
You’re wondering about the type of women you want to be. It’s a sad and soggy Sunday and you sit by the railing while it’s raining and the wind sighs at your presence.
You long for love, and peace, and mystery and excitement and you long to be wanted for who you are not who you could be if you were small.

My baby.
Everything you want isn’t everything you see.
Damaged isn’t pretty, my baby and maybe it looks it but the pain, oh baby the pain is like nothing you’ve ever felt.
And maybe you crave the mystery, maybe you crave the smudges mascara and the hunger pains.
But honest to truth my baby
Being this ****** up ain’t cute
Being this ****** up isn’t safe.
Being this ****** up makes you wonder what in the world is.

My baby there is nothing like the ache of being empty,
The sad and solemn nothing, the pitiless void that seldom empties but when it does you put stars in his eyes for he is the only other person with the key.
And a lot of the time the key doesn’t fit your locks,
The walls you’ve put up are brick.
And for every brick you stack he takes one away, eager to pull them down he tries and baby one day you might stop building.
Maybe it’ll be on a soft and sunny Saturday when both of you are laughing and you see it within him.
You’ll stop building and he’ll smile knowing that

My baby your walls are thick and strong,
Most of the time,
Sometimes they fall but you pick them up and rebuild don’t let anyone see the truth.
He knows.

My baby the boy you love will never quiet fill your cup and it’ll break you but it’s not his job to.
You have to try too.
Because baby I know you hurt and I know you just want out of the cruel ******* world but now no.
Now you have someone to love you.
To love you for who you are and not who you would be if you were small.
Someone who loves you so that to go would be to take a piece of him with you.
Maybe that piece is the spark you fell in love with.
Baby no now you have someone to live for.

My baby I know you think smudged mascara and running away is desirable and makes them want more but baby.
On the good days you feel like a well oiled machine, task after task focus, seem well act well everybody laughs, smooth machine yet still lack the basic humanity that should consume you.

My baby on the bad days, broken down, some days you manage to trudge your way out of bed and into the daytime, empty but there,
Worse, the days where you can’t get up. Where you open the window and stare out into the garden you’ve always seen and you let the sadness and elusive sleepiness win until you’re exhausted with sleep.
Days where blades help you feel and help the anger inside you escape when the blood bubbles through your torn skin.

My baby the overthinking will drive you crazy, where the concept of an ear is weird even when he whispers sweet nothings into them and tucks that little stray piece of hair behind them.
Where *** is a mechanism by which sounds so wrong but feels so right but baby do not use it to cure the sadness.
It will always win.  

My baby home is haunting.
The ghosts of who you used to be haunt you, taunt you, and the love you used to feel is gone. Home isn’t home. Home is a house in the hillside.
Home is the space between his arms where your head rests against his chest and he breathes in to smell the coconut in your hair, home is the way he stares at you and smiles, home is the way he plays video games with you in his lap, home is his dilated pupils, home is the weird way you hold hands on the train, home is short jokes and home is when he looks at you as if you
You my baby
Are just absolutely spectacular
Even when you feel like a fleck of dust on this pointless world.

My baby though he is home, mental illness and distress isn’t pretty.
Panic attacks and **** crying in public isn’t pretty. The disability of breathing isn’t pretty. Being perched over a toilet bowl isn’t pretty. Not eating for days isn’t pretty. Pulling out clumps of hair isn’t pretty. Being clumsy because you are so anaemic isn’t pretty. Passing out isn’t pretty. Wrist scars and bloodstained sheets aren’t pretty.
Being sick isn’t pretty.

Baby I wish we’d stopped when we knew.

Baby I wish help meant something because though you’ve tried,
Nothing gets through.

Baby when it rains it pours, and through every storm I have you, my hand is there to hold.
So we’ll call Noah’s arc and we’ll start a new world.
I know you’re hurting.
But my baby I promise one day we’ll be safe.
No longer shipwrecked.
My baby one day
One day
We’ll be free.
“Peaceful piano” - Spotify
“For stormboy.”
Mya Baertlein Oct 10
Sometimes I feel like I'm too damaged to be loved. If I don't love myself no one will. I just want to fall in love and not overthink it and feel like they will leave over my imperfections. They will run away right when I need them the most. Why am I ever enough? Why will no one help me?
Tala Oct 1
And she realizes
What a mess
She has become
For trying to gain
Everyone's approval
That even
Her shadow
Left her
In the dark.
Jasmine Marie Sep 15
So fickle is a heart that’s unsure of a love that is not receptive
It ponder if it should stay or go
Fight or surrender
Give it all or become selfish
It waits for a sign so small like a smile
Then it returns devoted to fight
But then the sudden sign of a cold shoulder
Dips the heart into a downpour of insecurities
It’s back to square one
A never ending cycle
A broken heart attempting to repair its damages
Returning to the person who disassembled it
I've named this,
For who knows the contents could be,
Reminded I am,
Of gravestones left unmarked,
Once were,
But today not a name to be seen...
When I gaze upon these,
I still send my respects,
I have not a clue,
As to resting is who,
Send love from my chest,
Move to the next,
Nothing is more I could do...
I guess for a second,
All I can rekon,
Is to imagine the being below,
Of their life's journey,
Those they've effected,
I only guess,
But never could know...
I hope they have felt,
My intents of respects,
And know they are not forgotten,
In fact I do say,
Right here today,
I do not even know my own place,
In this here world,
For which we are thrown,
My meaning,
Still yet,
So I visit as a friend,
A simple kind gesture,
A gift of my salutations,
You lay there,
As I stand afoot,
A quick connection of Nations...
I do hope it was felt,
That I so alone,
Considered a guest,
Of your home...
The Cemetery.
Written 08/04/2018. 11:08PM. Speaking on the graves I visit, which I see have been vandalised, defiled, defaced, or damaged...
Özcan Sh Sep 1
The heart that you know
Was a light source for you
It lighted up your way
Protected you from wild animals
And let you feel safe by his light
Even you Damaged his heart
He never let you in the dark.
Rose Aug 28
There is a flaw so big
that nothing dares to
An aching gap within
this soul.
I’m damaged goods;
who would want the
dented can at the store?
Theres rips and tears
upon my heart and mind.
You cannot walk to
me, for i’ve put
spikes to protect myself.
You cannot fly to
me, for the air you breath
is poisoned.
I’ve surrounded myself
on my own island.
Ashamed at what
others took from me.
Embarrassed that i’ve
been abused in the
worst way.
This secret is one we
hold close, “for who
could learn to love me?”
Thats not what i
ask. I ask; how can i
ever let someone
love me?
a real hard truth i've had to really took at about myself, things done to me are not my guilt, i should not be ashamed of them. to anyone who has felt the same way- know your worth.
Annie Aug 20
So I turned my body
into a bleeding canvas.

I painted myself red.

I drew pretty rivers,
on my arms,
mountains and hills,
on my stomach,
and forest fire,
on my thighs.

Everything poured,
out of me,
until, I turned to nothing,
until, I faded into the dark.
Next page