They drop
traumas
like
r
r                                         i
                                           i

                                                              ­                        n
                                       ­                                                n
                                a
                             ­    a

Writing poems at night
I might
Dreaming subtle dreams
I would like
Diving deep into meditation
Everyday I experience pain-bration

In my left shoulder blade
And my upper back
There is no explanation
To that.

But today I had a breakthrough
Sitting still.
Breathing,
Feeling my aliveness,
Learn to feel...

Years ago
I have made a promise
I will not feel this pain,
It might **** me,
If I'm honest.

I ignored all bad feelings
Learned dissociation
Back then, I must admit,
It was a helpful creation.

But now, in adult years,
It's hard to cry those tears,
Which were suppressed,
Because of many fears

At home
In childhood years.

Art feels like the difference of living and surviving. Maybe that's why my hands are always making. Each pencil pressed against my skin a silent scream for something great. A dream I dare to animate, breath life into. They say to heal trauma is not to become ready  to cope with the pain but instead the ability to bear joy again. The life I dream with you feels rebellious. Feels far fetched and delightful. It lights small flames of hope inside me. I am either a fool or living on the edge of what I am capable of. I have breathed life into a co-created dreaming. Tenderly nested and spoke of my love for them. Kissed them until my lipstick wore off. Was drunk in their laughter. I know what it feels like to simply survive. It's a place much easier to rest in then to return to.

Deep in the darkest corners of the mind,
through the corridors you will find,
the thoughts slowly skulking along,
and everything just feels so wrong,

the tricks it plays,
putting the host in a haze,
reality or not, who can tell
encompassed in an unpenetrable shell,

it blocks out the guiding light,
burying it far out of sight,
in the dark is when it does the most,
turning into your own personal ghost,

filling the brain with endless ideation,
begging you to bring it into fruition,
but if you work hard then you just might,
eradicate that suicidal parasite

Because of you my life is tainted,
By the hellish landscape that you painted,
Sometimes I wonder how different my life would've been,
If what I encountered had been seen,
But it was behind closed doors,
Leaving me lonely in the moors,
My innocent heart,
It was torn apart,
All the fragments spread,
And I'm at the mercy of the voices in my head,
They so to move on you need to forgive,
But you've left me with trauma I always relive,
Sometimes I wanna **** you and scream "F#ck you!"
And I know my parents do too,
But you're not worth the time I'd have to serve,
So I just hope one day you'll get what you deserve,
Maybe one day I can tear apart the hell you painted,
And leave my life a little less tainted