#trauma
If you don't heal what hurt you,
You'll bleed on people who didn't cut you.
Jun 25, 2019
Jun 25, 2019 at 3:35 PM UTC
I am a moth
Whose wings are folded paper.
Sturdy enough to fly,
yet tears with the slightest touch.
I open my wings
So, you can see the patterns.
Let you see vulnerability
in exchange for nectar.
You see open wings
and grab them.
pluck the edges of the paper
and release me.
I am a moth
Whose wings are healing.
Every flight ends
with wings bleeding.
Thought you were a flower,
soft and sweet.
But you were a flame
burning holes
through me.
I try to fly
But your light burns too bright,
I'm blinded,
I fly straight through.
You burn my wings in two.
And
you
walk
away
while
I
scream.
Yet you told me
You loved moths
like me.
Only 15,
haunted by memory
of my wings
being ripped from me.
your handprint
burned into
where
my
wings
should
be.
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 11:28 PM UTC
Uncertainty fills the air
And suddenly I'm not so sure.
Nostalgia begins to decay
But why?
Heavy, heavier...
I inhale and sigh with, what, exasperation?
Creation?
These are all mere distractions
To prevent myself from colliding
With myself,
With how I feel.
Emotional trauma, Part I -
Coming soon to a childhood near you!
We laugh it off
But it does not leave us.
Nothing can leave us
As easily as you walked away
That night.
I will not forget what I saw.
Engraved in my brain
Causing me to crumble
Tumble, tumble...
Crash.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Now here you come again to fetch me from the sea,
Ballast in my bones, this girl was born to sink;
A cautionary tale, I slip between the wood,
Limbs whittled thin and feet stained with soot.
But never-mind the waif; she waxes so pale
Drunk on dejection, I ponder the veil
Leaden and listless, for the sirens will sing:
Amaranthine is the color I bleed for the sea.
So I’ll spit out my sorrows wherever they listen,
Pumped me with pills and said that they fixed it.
The darlings have died off; the dolls are all broken,
Just left is me, thin-skinned and soft spoken.
And I’d rather lick knives than chew on love’s gristle,
Like a dog on a chain, I’d run when you whistle.
Far from it now, yet lost in the maze:
Chasing ways out for the rest of my daze.
Dec 18, 2022
Dec 18, 2022 at 2:18 PM UTC
**** doesn’t always hide
At parties and outside clubs
**** doesn’t always hide
In dark alleys and empty parking lots
Sometimes it is right in front of you
But you choose to look the other way
**** doesn’t always hide
Behind the faces of strangers in the night
Sometimes it is hiding behind the closed doors
Of your uncles
Cousins
Fathers
And brothers
**** isn’t always loud-
Screaming, yelling, and crying
Sometimes **** is quiet-
Gasping for air and silent tears
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
All along my trigger was you and I can't stand it
To this subconcious fear I light up and take a hit
Tumbling forever I never thought this would quit
Because I thought I could distinguish love from
********
Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 8:56 AM UTC
If there were a language for walls,
It would mumble,
Per broken jaws.
The sun would shine through fragmented holes,
A windows' lone goal?
To magnify heat,
Til' all was engulfed.
With confirmed dead inside,
None knock, as they've read inscribed:
"Family tree,
Difficulty,
Unavailable."
"Family business,
Buy one,
One comes free,
Fire wood sale."
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
A broken little heart entangles his tears,
that come from a person that he'll never see.
Wet rain boots and ***** feet make him forget
about the darkest nights. His bed and blankets
are like souvenirs from home; a house he'll never
remember. Lies and "I'm sorry"s are trapped in his
hair, dangling behind his ears, whispering such
morbid pain among his lullabies. With every cry he's
screamed for you, can you even hear him? He's afraid
to sleep alone, as the TV erases nightmares oozing from
his eyes, do you care at all? Lost toys and old photographs
make him plead; Oh, but why? He'll never understand the
love he couldn't have, the love you wouldn't give-
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:07 PM UTC
he took my heart and crushed it between the hands that touched me,
That I thought loved me,
but he only wanted to **** me,
I'm hurting but I can’t scream,
my words have been silenced, but my thoughts won’t stay quiet
like a ship lost at sea,
I can’t forget what he did to me,
its a current pulling me under, while my heart has been torn asunder
The way his actions, his words,
they burrow under my skin and fester like an infection.
The way they haunt me,
no matter how hard I try to
forget them.
Feb 14
Feb 14, 2026 at 10:30 AM UTC
Dear Dad,
That’s all I ever wanted you to be. A dad, my dad. I didn’t expect you to be a great dad, or even a good dad, but you never made any attempt to be anything close to a dad at all. You did try to be other things to me though. A dictator, a manipulator, even a ****** partner. You may say that I wanted it, you might even actually believe that, but I assure you that my compliance was not an indication of my enjoyment. Compliance was simply the only option you gave me. I saw the way you looked at me long before you ever put your hands on me, but you waited. You waited until you’d pushed me to the brink of insanity. You made me question my reality so much that I’d believe anything you told me. Then on top of that, you found a way to make everyone in our family question every word that I ever uttered in preparation for the day that I’d tell them what you’d done because you knew that eventually, I would. You planned out every piece of what you did so perfectly. Even after I’d come out with the truth you made sure that the walls around me crumbled before yours did. All I ever wanted was for you to be my dad, but you couldn’t even give me that.
May 10, 2023
May 10, 2023 at 5:57 PM UTC
I know I was just a game
Player 2 felt just the same
Scared of my window
And my Windows
Worried by empty streets
And data sheets
Are my files compromised?
Or is it just my brain,
CPU rotting again.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
2 men,
that's it.
2 men
have known me,
inside, they fit.
Doped out
of my mind;
it's hard to recall.
Bits and pieces,
flashes of memory.
I was a living rag doll.
Barely breathing,
he takes me from behind.
Pulls my hair,
and says,
"I'm gonna make you mine!"
I think it happened
three times,
but who really knows?
When your brain's
as high as mine goes.
I can't call it ****
I was a willing participant.
Numb to the bones,
so with it I went.
When it all fell apart;
my secrets exposed,
he wrote me something
that was no longer prose.
His words were razor blades,
slicing the skin with ease.
I kept myself in my own prison;
over, my heart began to freeze.
"A willing **** victim",
is what he called me.
Sick to my stomach
for allowing him in,
I lay my head on the pillow
to cry for a 5 year old sin.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
driving down a windy road 35 miles per hour at seven thirty in the evening with flowers and balloons in the back seat shouldn't have ended with me being suspended sideways for thirty minutes while they tried to make it safe to get me out of what was left of my first car and no matter how many times i draw a bath i can't get rid of the feeling of my left hand covered in my own blood and the small slivers of glass that are still in my hands or the swollen over-sized bruises that adorn my legs and my face
and regardless of the scent of lavender and apples i cant look at my damaged body anymore
did you ever really love me at all?
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
I don’t have the desire to see another end;
after exhaustive months of getting to know
a fictionalised persona, fragmented, so
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
The last one hurt and you didn’t see,
but that doesn’t proclaim the scar less prominent to me,
my feelings numb, I no longer crave the intimacy - detrimental to me.
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
The last boys touch was for him not for me
and my body still screams cause he won’t let it be
and you’ll never understand as the trauma won’t subside
and my self esteem is diminished by his lies.
No, I don’t have a boyfriend.
I humoured a guy who gave it a try
but all I could feel was nothing inside
and when someone bumps into me sauntering by
the unwanted touch still makes me cry.
No, I don't want a boyfriend.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 5:33 PM UTC
For as long as I can remember, I've always had this void in my life. It's this empty feeling deep deep down inside of me and no matter how hard I try I cant quite seem to shake it, overconsuming, eating away at me, I can have happy moments when everything seems to be going great, the feelings of not being okay comes back like a head on collision.
Theres a constant nag deep down to fill this empty void, anything to make it all better. Trying from hobbies, family, friends, material stuff and just nothing. It's not simple or an easy matter to explain, especially when you get to a point when numbing it out seems to be the better option from having such a hard past, from abuse to ****** trauma.
So badly I long for true happiness, no worries. I desperately long for what I see around me, to have not a care in the world. Instead I'm in this dark hole and I cant find my way out, filled with horror, dark, and scary. So consumed with feeling crazy.
I tend to put on this act like I'm so happy and I have the perfect life, when in reality that's just not the case. I lash out and I dont mean to.
God I just want so badly to be okay. To have never gone through the things I have, instead here I am. Lost in a spiral out of control, a ride I cant get off.
One day I will look back and it will just be a memory. Just a part of my past and I can finally say no longer I'm not okay.
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 9:07 PM UTC
I've inherited my mother's fear
And my father's bitterness
And he inherited his father's recklessness
And his mother's pain
And she inherited
And he inherited
And we've inherited hatred of our own kind
Passed down from the terrorists who have colonized the lands and minds and bodies of my ancestors
And I can feel the anguish & the effects of this hereditary agony from here;
I am ready to heal.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 7:19 PM UTC
His confessions were slow and seldom
Whereas yours fall rapid and steady
From your lips, dipping down
To kiss my body
His loneliness was everlasting
Whereas yours settles for nothing
Looks me square in the eyes
Daring me not to smile
His words left me bruised and blackened
Whereas yours find soft healing
When you tell me you'll do small things too
To make me happy
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 4:03 PM UTC
daddy why don't you love me anymore
you know mom never did
it's almost as if you're dead
yet you're still alive
you can't protect me from her insults anymore
because now, you're the one going along with it
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 10:00 AM UTC
SA Trigger Warning
I can still remember the couch.
The way I cried in my friend's arms when I thought of that couch.
Pinned down.
Abused.
Forcefully used.
On the couch.
Couch.
I still remember going into my apartment alone after.
The way my body shaked for nights spent crying in my bed after.
At my friend's apartment after.
In the hospital after.
Years after.
After.
They say the mind can forget sometimes,
but what always remembers the trauma is the body.
The one that kicked and fought off the body.
The one that layed under the body.
The violated body.
The tortured body.
The unsafe body.
The Body
After
The Couch...
was never the same.
Not for me to blame.
I know that now.
Sep 15, 2021
Sep 15, 2021 at 2:46 AM UTC
i find myself reflecting on my girlhood
what should’ve been
i grieve the girl i could’ve been
if these addiction genes didn’t flow so steadily
like an unwavering whirlpool
it wasn’t your fault your mom didn’t care for you
but why couldn’t you care for me
we all have ways to cope
mine is taking pen to page
yours was needle to arm
i grieve for the girl you should’ve been
for the mom you could’ve been
Dec 28, 2022
Dec 28, 2022 at 10:12 AM UTC
i don’t count aloud anymore.
i can't stand to hear your name,
such a common word.
it doesn't matter the context-
i still go quiet every time.
i used to pick up pennies, called them lucky.
i remember picking up a few
on our way back to your place.
nowadays i don't give them a second glance.
it's not their worth i've forgotten.
they say one is the loneliest number.
is that why you did it?
because you felt you’d earned it
after all this time being by yourself--
that you deserved it?
what about me,
did i?
i remember exactly what i wore that day:
short shorts, a big baggy t shirt.
i haven't worn those shoes since (and i so loved them).
they were these expensive purple velvet platforms;
i'd actually had to beg my mother to buy them for me.
"you better wear them", she warned.
that day i went home with you was
the first time i'd ever worn those shoes.
and the last.
sorry mom.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
Chant that you are brave,
Even as your body begins to quake;
Exclaim that you need not be saved,
Endeavor to alter your own fate.
Affirmations deserve more credit;
Say anything enough and you'll believe.
It's wholly possible to edit,
A new response to fear needs to be conceived.
Therapy is not at my beck and call,
But willpower will help me revise,
Prevent me from facing a dastardly fall,
A pivoting, terminating demise.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 1:24 PM UTC