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evelyn augusto Nov 2017
I wasn't  made with
an ambidextrous
spirit.  No, nor skilled
in simultaneously
gripping and letting go--
not trained, since
childhood, to do that
which my heart resists.

It's hard to hold on.

And when my chest
rattled like a
diamond snake--
and I was uncertain
of what was at stake.

I learned:
I am the bull's eye.
I am the stop sign.
I am the excuse
for his violence--
I am the story nobody
wants to hear or
change.

I am no longer me

but only that
gun shot
right here
to my middle.

By:  Evelyn Augusto. 2017
Written for GUNS DON'T SAVE PEOPLE...POETS DO:
Dueling with words to end gun violence.
Andreas Simic Nov 2017
My Plight in Sight©

I find myself alone
I was once with many
Dwindled to a few
Now a sole survivor

I am huddled here
In the cold
In this ditch
That now serves as shelter

It is not my fault
I did my very best
To help them survive
To keep them alive

Now I am freezing
My hands shake
And quiver
As I hold my metal defense

They are all around me now
It is just a matter of time
My thoughts are of home
Of family and that tree in the yard

The odds are not good
I know they are not
That I will hold your hand
For now it is just a thought

To have and to hold is just a dream
Our baby in my hands
Something I glean
What happens now is unforeseen

The din of earlier in the day
Gives way to an eerie silence
And here I have to stay
To see if I will live another day

This is war
And I am a soldier

Andreas Simic©
Andreas Simic Nov 2017
My Plight in Sight©

I find myself alone
I was once with many
Dwindled to a few
Now a sole survivor

I am huddled here
In the cold
In this ditch
That now serves as shelter

It is not my fault
I did my very best
To help them survive
To keep them alive

Now I am freezing
My hands shake
And quiver
As I hold my metal defense

They are all around me now
It is just a matter of time
My thoughts are of home
Of family and that tree in the yard

The odds are not good
I know they are not
That I will hold your hand
For now it is just a thought

To have and to hold is just a dream
Our baby in my hands
Something I glean
What happens now is unforeseen

The din of earlier in the day
Gives way to an eerie silence
And here I have to stay
To see if I will live another day

This is war
And I am a soldier

Andreas Simic©
To honor Remembrance Day and those who serve.
Broken Arpeggio Nov 2017
The beginning is so unassuming
It's a faint desire to better oneself by
succumbing to "healthier" options both
mentally and physically
Or at least that's what we tell
ourselves

Once the introductions are over and
the pleasantries of obtainable goals
made, you become totally enamored by
the sense of accomplishment
That nagging whisper of assurance,
gratitude, and love keeps you
constantly striving for something
more
With that, the trap has been set

One goal turns to three, and three
turns quickly to ten
Now you are in the grips of an enticing,
vengeful, and all-consuming force that
is never satisfied
The whispers soon become screams
that berate your inadequacies and
open the floodgates for negativity
"Never Good Enough" becomes the
battle-cry of this addiction towards
self-deprecation

Intentions to stop are always there
However, chasing the ever elusive "last
goal" becomes your entire existence
You alienate yourself from any and all
who stand in the way of disordered
progress
Blinded by a strong conviction and
supposed self-improvement, you
cannot see the destruction ED craves
It devours every possible ounce of time
and energy a body has until there is
nothing left to give

Still not content, and louder than ever,
ED seeks complete annihilation and
your ultimate demise
Only through intervention,
enlightenment, and a shroud of hope
can the bond be broken with the beast
within
This clarity makes it possible to live
and fight another day

I Believe...Do You?
THIS IS ME...We all have addictions (that itch that you just can't seem to scratch). Mine happens to be centered around food, or lack thereof!! Not so long ago, it was a reality that I wasn't ready to face nor admit. However, through the help of an awesome treatment team and those that cared enough to support/stand by me when I was at my worst, it has now become a daily battle that thankfully I AM WILLING TO FIGHT!
V Oct 2017
Behold the man who terrfies with power,
Behold the man who can **** a king with his glower.
All hail the man who has it all,
All hail the man who cannot fall.

Woe to the man who fears judgement day,
He paces and turns the clock off in fear driven rage.
Woe to the man who hides his pills from the other "eyes",
He sits vengeful at his past, masking it with every lie.
Woe to the man who doesn't sleep at night,
For he regrets selling is soul, he doesn't sleep in fright.
Woe to the men who are evil, for deep down they do not know,
Their sickness has overcome them, they aren't aware they are suffering, barely able to crawl.

Behold the one who sees it all,
It is I, the lowly, the injured, the small.
Behold the one with the love for the wolves when the world does not,
I love what the world only wishes to die and rot.
The evil are not born evil, some this truth is no option,
For many, "Go to hell, you deserve no love, you are just a toxcin."
I have grown to love what you consider "wicked",
Despite my life, I am the victim.
I can only love and forgive, no hatred after all these years,
I still pray for them, behind my bruises, scars and tears.

We could both debate, argue and try to pursuade, but I care too much, I will not lie behind hate.
Perhaps a weakness, call me pathetic,
but I was sent to heal the broken,
Even if it makes me just as sick.

Without a cure, how can we heal?
Without a heaven, there is only hell.

I fear the day when I am free,
I fear the day this chord is broken,
Killing them from me.
What will be left is me the murderer,
Me to mourn their decay;
And what will be left is just a dream, a blurr.
A pain I cannot bare to think it,
I cannot stomach that, not even for a bit.

So, woe and behold,
The evil, the sick,
Whom society and the mind is their virus,
A good soul their antibiotic.
Survivor of SRA/CSA and multiple traumas.
To my abusers, whom I could never find it in my heart to harbour hatred and vengence, for doing so would keep me not only prisoner, but blind.
Despite all the pain they have given me and the freedom, innocence, and stabilty I may never have again, I have learned to love and understand their pain deep inside.
What has made them, them today...
What has destroyed them.
I hated seeing that pain.
I have done everything I could to be what I believed "a cure" for their troubled hearts.
Who knows if what I did found them.

It kills me still that I don't feel "sane" without them, as if I killed them by escaping because at one time they said "we were one".
Yes, I still deal with heavy Stockholm Syndrome, but for me, loving and forgiving is what I will never not do.

As said, no one is born evil,
No one is born with a black heart.
I wished society can understand this,
but there is nothing more I can do.

To all surviors of all trauma large or small, May peace, happiness and freedom forever be with you. <3
Lyn-Purcell Oct 2017
Upon every body of man and woman alike

are scars. While we are walking memories,

the scars are marks of various journeys

that life inflicts. While we trudge and trudge

and trudge and trudge, our true selves

scream to be heard. To be free of the demons

born in the wombs of the mind and heart.

Life inflict scars. Scars sing with stories.

And stories are all that live on in the end

for we never truly die, as our legends

survive.
Every scar on us is a reminder that we are stronger than we give ourselves credit for
Janie Elizabeth Oct 2017
i was a little girl
you where a grown man
i had no say
you acted upon your own sin
you took my flower
i was too young to know
at the time you had the power
to that i say no more
you are a filthy demon of the night
i am a ****** by heart and its my own right
you rot in your own filth
forever a beast you will be
i have many choices of who i want to be
a writer, a painter, psychologist, or musician
i have a life that is worth living
you may have taken my flower but my words still remain
you thought you had the power
but you're only insane
This poem is about ****. you should be aware of who you trust because i was a victim so many times to family members, but now i am a survivor
yellah girl Oct 2017
me too.

six or seven years old,
on my Little Mermaid bed,
playing doctor or predator,
with my innocence.

me too.

eight or nine years old,
in children's church groups,
asking me why i didn't shave
or wear a bra.

me too.

eleven years old, it's the
holiday season, you're my
favorite uncle, so why do you
stroke my breast and cradle my
***?

me too.

in high school, everyone's doing
it, it's not a big deal.
you're such a *****, why can't
you just send me a ****?

me too.

in college, you convinced me
i'm mature enough, i'm old enough,
so why did i feel so terrified to say
no? why did i cover my eyes and bite
my tongue?
Vague, but there. It's enough. Over two decades, multiple men, one survivor.
clairevanya Oct 2017
I've never been able to get good sleep.
My eyes darker than black holes, I spiral down.
I try to clamber up, but I'm in way too deep.

Daydreaming at night.
The loss of myself, but very aware of my state of mind.
Release is only found within the sunrise.
Every night I stumble on the moon.
I jump star to meteor, hoping gravity pulls me into the space between. Maybe then I can get some real good sleep.

History book worthy battles, I wonder who will be the victor.
Love or loath; a sword drawn to my heart.
Arms apart, head thrown back.
I'm not even entirely sure what part of me I'm killing, I'm just praying for relief, I just want some sleep.

I was sick of the suffering, autopilot is my new definition of personality.
Memories have turned into sadistic nightmares.
Let me free myself from this close eyed, open mind torture.
I cant even stand to walk around my own mind, silence is full of beasts I have yet to slay.    
I'd rather hide in the wounded parts of me, call myself a survivor.
A survivor of nothing out of the ordinary.
Broken Arpeggio Oct 2017
Time does not heal every gaping sore
Instead, it can create a festering wound that slowly seeps poison into every pore

Time cannot erase all the hideous pain
It rather gives a purpose for walls to be built in order to keep the mind sane

Time will not provide a safe haven from harm
Although, it can reinforce the locks on prison doors that no one can disarm

Time should have given me my freedom
Or at the very least, granted my parole

However, I have become uneasily comfortable with the internal terror
Whatever uncertainty lies beyond my confinement, scares me more so
Doing what's uncomfortable...Seeking and accepting help...Discovering inner strength...Embracing your "flawed" true self...JUST BEING OK WITH ALL OF IT! This is my journey of trying to heal; because nothing stays buried forever.
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