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MindMooring Oct 4
A photograph expresses
controlled puppet moment.
Yeah,, most do ...
Tiful Sep 7
It’s been so long, why am I scared though?
Heart racing, I can’t handle the screams.
With a bang, I hear screams.
I thought it would be fine, they won’t make me cry.
They won’t make me scared.
They won’t-.

As I reassured myself yet another bang resounded making me run to the corner.
All the screams, are they my imagination?
All the cries, this must be real.
It’s going to happen again isn’t it, and I’ll fail to do anything.
And again, I’ll act the victim when the truth is bare.

My thoughts mix together making me unable to think anymore.
I’m on flight mode, I just want it all to go away.
Back to the old days, filled with sorrow and despair.
Forced like a zombie, more of me started rotting away.
I can’t think, I can’t breathe, I can’t see.
Are my arms falling off? Has my head rolled?
What’s going on, it just hurts.
It hurts, why am I forced to be this way?

Am I really forced?
I can easily walk out of this cage I made.
With all the faulty holes, I could fit right through.
Just walk, just leave.
It’s seems so simple, yet I can’t do it.
I can reach my hand out, but that’s it.
Is that really all I can do?
How pathetic, how miserable.
Why can’t I do more, why didn’t I do more?
Maybe if I did more less people would have fallen.

Maybe I should die, since that’s all I can do?
Can I die, it would make up for what I did.
But it’s too late for that option, I have to live on.
Do I really?
I’m not sure, however living on will only add to the despair.
Yet dying would be another mistake.

I’ll have to go back to those days again, those were hate and sorrow remain.
I have the keys to the chains that hold me back, and yet I still can’t stop myself from going back.
Why is that so?
I’m not forced to remain the puppet yet I still do.
I wonder, when will the day come when I’ll be free?
When will the day come when I’ll be able to play with everyone else?
When I’ll be able to laugh with them?
My hope is that it will soon happen, though who truly knows anymore.
I truly do not know.
Hello, my name is Tiful and this is a poem I made about CPTSD. I hope you’ll enjoy it.
Store me in a foreign wooden house,
but please
let me out.
Daylight seething through skin
and bones I don't have.
Rain wiping hand-painted
stage pearl-white smiles.

Make me walk
and then run on my own
without strings holding up
my wrists and calves.
I hope by then a mile
knocks the wind out of my lungs
and while I pause for breath,
lay rest, look up
may it remind
me of the crown I wear,
the color of the sky.

Tear up scripts
made for me to recite,
and let me write
all the stories
I'd rather hear,
not just act out
with my time.

I'm not cut out for a role
I never auditioned for
or this life.
ALesiach Jul 22
She sits in silence upon the bed
hands folded neatly, but with drooping head.
Her gossamer chords, silvery and fair
float gently through the winter's evening air.

Slowly his music fills her hollow form
as she waits for him to strum her gossamer chords.
A dancing silhouette, bending to his will
spiraling, swirling, or capriciously still.

His fingers dance across those gossamer chords
as she silently floats across the floor.
Tirelessly she performs the night through
never once missing her cue.

As his haunting music begins to fade
and he slowly turns away.
She slumps back against the bed
hands folded neatly, but with drooping head.

ALesiach © 02/16/2015
Devin Ortiz Jun 20
Severed strings. I dangle free.
Master only to psychopathy.

Take it all. Every crutch.
Can’t manipulate,
What you cannot touch.
Wang Di Jun 13
A dream that he saw
The silver lining smile on his wrist
How it created a dream of the apocalypse
Where people around him
were just bodies who were
Trying to tie knots around him
And with a curve on his lip
He would try to dance around it
But, as those eyes of the bodies closed
Driven by the realm of imagination and fantasy
He would slowly
Unravel those knots
And became someone
That yesterday couldn’t remember
And tomorrow wouldn’t dare to guess
Many sit in there  bed and think of life,
And they can’t help but think,
Do they have a purpose in life to fulfil,
Or are they as useless as they think,
Do they have to follow a certain path,
Or is there one that they  can make,
Are they all just puppets of some puppet show
and is  their life just  controlled by the puppeteers
Are they the main players  or just some pawns on the side

But I already know
I am the puppeteer
of my own puppet show
And I will always control the strings

Because I believe every single person has purpose
But sometimes they just fail to notice
and when they fail to notice
they cut their strings instead of controlling them
and they fall, like so many others have
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