"tormenting" poems
You wonder
why I wiggle
so much
why my legs
bounce,
and my hands
twitch.
Truth is,
my mind
can't slow down
It doesn't know
how to take a day off,
its far too good
at tormenting me
more and more
with each
passing second.
-JRM
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
In all my paralyzing confusion, only one thing is needed; in all my anxiety over my much less than ideal circumstances, only one thing is needed; in all my this-is-so-unfair discouragement, only one thing is needed; in my pressing-down-like-a-boulder-on-my-chest grief, only one thing is needed; in my feels-like-my-insides-are-being-scraped-out sorrow, only one thing is needed; in my falling-apart-at-every-seam life, only one thing is needed; in my can’t-seem-to-muster-the-will-to-get-out-of-bed depression, only one thing is needed; in my sure-I’m-finally-going-crazy state of mind, only one thing is needed; in my so-mad-I’ve-got-to-throw-and-break-something anger, only one thing is needed. In the scorning and tormenting face of rejection or betrayal or failure or devastating news or disfiguring disease or the worst fears of my heart coming to pass, only one thing is needed—to come and sit at Jesus’ feet and listen to what He is saying.
To entrust myself to Him, to acknowledge His presence with me, to submit myself to His perfect authority over me, to just look at Him and recognize His all-surpassing worth, to feast on Him, to wait for Him to speak and know that He longs to do so more than I long to hear it, to meditate on His Word and speak it back to Him both in praise and request and to ask Him exactly what it means for me right now, to be ready to respond to Him in obedience and follow him wherever or however He leads, to be willing to tune out every competing voice no matter how well-intentioned and to say “No!” to whatever He has not called me to, to believe that He cares deeply and passionately for me both in His emotion toward me and in His personal tending of me, to see that the details of my life matter even more to Him than they do to me and that He holds every one of them in His hands and is perfectly directing them for intimacy and glory, to refuse to be drawn away or worried or upset by the many preparations and distractions all around me by casting every burden down before Him and taking up His all-sufficient grace for every need, and above all to want Him more than anything and to let everything else fit into that all-pervasive desire—this is the ONE THING that is needed both now and throughout every season of my life, and if I will choose it, it will not be taken from me. It is the one thing worth fighting to the death for and will, no doubt, require just such a dying again and again and again...
Jul 24, 2017
Jul 24, 2017 at 7:27 PM UTC
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
To stop this moment
To relive the past
And to see the future.
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
To slow it down
To speed it up
And to play over.
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
To spend it wisely
To cherish it
And to learn from it.
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
Because it is the cruelest villain
It keeps moving regardless of our lives
It keeps ticking and tormenting
It claims to heal all wounds
It is the dictator of life.
I'd be stronger than super man
I'd be slicker than batman
I'd be bulkier than the hulk
I'd be faster than quicksilver
All because I'd have the power to control time.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
#*God draws out
the deepest, sharpest
most tormenting pain in us
brings it straight to the surface
with raw nerves and ugly roots exposed
then meets us right there in that exact place
with the tender, soothing, healing balm of His love*#
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
By constantly tormenting them
with reminders of the lice in
their children’s hair, the
School Physician first
brought their hatred down on him.
But by this familiarity
they grew used to him, and so,
at last,
took him for their friend and adviser.
10.6k
I see an ugly side of me that no one else can see,
And I wonder what would they do if they see this part of me,
This ugly, hideous, part of me,
Longing to be fixed, controlled, repaired.
Each time I try to change for the better,
Inevitably, I keep on succumbing myself to it, ****** in it,
Tormenting myself, and regretting what I've done, eventually,
Without fail, again and again,
Repeating the act.
Who am I lying to?
Not the world, but myself,
And who do I put the blame onto?
Not the world, but myself,
It's binding me tightly,
I can't get free,
Will never ever be.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
What is a Father?
Is he a Person?
A Thing?
Or a Feather?
What is his Life?
Is it Carefree and Spontaneous
Or Tormenting and Strife?
Who is he in which a Person could know?
What are his Abilities which only he could show?
Does he Work, for the sake of a Family?
Or sleeps and pigs around, being a Menace and Lazy?
Who could this man be, to the Eyes of Children,
A Hard Rock or a Soft Leaven?
Does he Pile over Everyone
And takes Control?
Is he the Eagle, the Head of the Nest,
Playing a very important Role?
Does he impersonate Father Christmas
With all his Treats and Gifts?
Is he a Lover, with a Strong Heart for *******
Hugging greatly and giving Love-Lifts?
Does he Pray,
Or Face-Religious?
Or a Braver,
Or Spontaneous?
Is he a Disciplinarian
Wherewithin all Members under him
Are tuned to his Command?
Or a Freester,
Who gives his Kids their darling Freedom
Without any Demand?
Does he care,
For the People and Loved Ones around him?
Is he Provocative,
Uncaring for Anyone behind his Dim?
Mostly, he is the Grass,
Herding the Future for his Offspring?
Or the Lamb,
Stubborn and very Unwilling?
And so, whatever he is,
Or does,
A Father is a Father,
Anonymous or Specific
I wouldn't mind.
Just as long as he has
HEART, STRENGTH, FREEDOM and PROSPERITY,
KINDNESS, BRAVE, PROTECTIVE
And RELIABILITY.
I'll be Glad and Content. As any Son should be.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
I rise impalpable
from poked and scattered ash.
Memories from the 20 years I lived
leave a crimson rash
on my skin once as white as snow.
the skin they began to scar
when I was 11, too young to know
that they were not just scars.
they were the marks on the bark
of a green, tender tree-
marks of men (or brutes?)- wild
and untamed.
there was nothing left of innocence,
nothing left of rainbows.
I did not have my days to play-
instead I was being played with.
I, a delicate ***** white,
stripped and whipped and sold.
a love-bit nape, blackened sight,
named the girl of gold.
but no more, no more.
I have risen from the depth
with my soft body rugged
and sour breath
and teeth marks on my collarbone-
like it was only yesterday.
men and their laughs-
tormenting and know-all,
conspiring my fall.
Now that I'm awake,
risen from my grave-
(they were kind to give me one)
I shall give them back the scars
they etched upon my heart,
I shall give them back the pain.
the little purple bruises.
I shall torture them quite insane
and they would die,
they would eventually die with regrets-
regrets not confessed.
I would return to my grave
and smile,
maybe laugh the manly laugh-
tormenting and know-all,
I would be their fall.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile
readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and hell,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...
a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on, shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.
sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words, a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....
a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 29, 2017
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
We are all a garden
of sorts.
We all spring up
from a single seed.
And like a flourishing tree
or an expanding bush
we can branch out
and multiply
in number and in strength
surrounded by tender loving care,
being watered by others,
paid close attention to
as the gardener nurtures us
to maturity.
We bloom.
We blossum.
Beauty abounds.
Our colors come forth
in a harmony of hues
upon every petal
and every leaf.
But then come the weeds
that choke out our foliage
and wrap around our roots,
our foundations.
The weeds of hatred,
the weeds of bitterness
the weeds of loneliness,
the weeds of shame,
the weeds of fear,
and depression
invade.
Bugs infest our garden
and eat away at us,
tormenting us,
picking away at us,
and the beauty
and produce
that once was the glory
of our garden
has gone away.
Did we do this to ourselves?
We often wonder.
Did the gardener get too passive,
get too neglectul and uncaring
and forget to tend the garden?
Maybe we were not strong enough
to take up the fight,
wilting, fading in the sun.
Yet even a dying flower
produces seeds of growth,
and of renewal,
as a rebirth will come from
its entrance into the earth.
Even the most tragic looking
of sickly plant life
will have a comeback,
a resurrection
of sorts
when golden raindrops
do fall again
like prayers from the sky.
And so it is the gardener
was never asleep on the job,
did not neglect the duties.
And like all healthy ones do
abundant food
shall grow once again
in our garden,
fragrant flowers,
and branches
for the birds to perch upon
when at one time
all seemed dead
and hopeless
and lost.
Nov 26, 2009
Nov 26, 2009 at 12:48 PM UTC
She has a way of tormenting you
In every direction you try take
She gives you a curfew
Hoping, probing, that you, too, slip through the cracks.
I wanted to be a astronaut
To explore the universe
To find my destiny
Through the black hole
And out
Spaghettified or not
When my now cuffed-mind
Soared the air
With wings dispersed in the wind
Still when she didn't care
And thought I was harmless
She tried shooting me down
And got one through a wing
Now I think I want to be an accountant
Mediocre and sane
But who wants to have sanity
When you can be in it?
So I crashed into Hyperion
And as high as I am
She still sends her vicious winds
To try and cut me down
But her torment crafts precious stones
So in the interim
I'll hold on
Hoping that I can un-cuff my mind
Keeping a birds-eye view
Like a leopard waiting for its ****
So that one day
I can glide the universe
Wings distributed out wide
Skillful and experienced
So she can never shoot me down
Now
Perched on Hyperion
Patient and vigilant
I wait
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
I'll just have a taste
just have one
two
three
four
sticky mess
all over my hands
why couldn't I stop
I don't remember doing this
frosting drying up my mouth
only solaced by further sugar
sticky mess
all over my hands
I can't wash it off
I can't get it off
it's engraved there
sticky mess
all over my hands
tormenting me
making me sick
sticky mess
all over my hands
purge it out
get it out
shower drowning out the sound
sticky mess
all over my hands
I'm disgusting
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To come alongside.
In words of comfort.
Words of love.
To the divorced.
Who feel like they've failed.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the mentally ill.
Whose tormenting thoughts are a living hell.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the lost teen caught up in the downward
spiral of addiction.
Where escape from life is so appealing to them.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the homeless man without a dime.
Whose every moment is a struggle to survive.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try to understand?
To hold out our hand?
To the child in the classroom who doesn't fit in.
Who needs an aide to settle them.
Labels.
Judgement.
Stigma.
Will we not even try?
To accept.
To comfort.
To...
love.
To hold out our hand.
And then...
watch God heal.
The broken hearts.
Of the marginalized.
From the pain
of
the
stigma.
Of those who don't fit in.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 11:44 PM UTC
A few things for themselves,
Convolvulus and coral,
Buzzards and live-moss,
Tiestas from the keys,
A few things for themselves,
Florida, venereal soil,
Disclose to the lover.
The dreadful sundry of this world,
The Cuban, Polodowsky,
The Mexican women,
The ***** undertaker
Killing the time between corpses
Fishing for crayfish...
****** of boorish births,
Swiftly in the nights,
In the porches of Key West,
Behind the bougainvilleas,
After the guitar is asleep,
Lasciviously as the wind,
You come tormenting,
Insatiable,
When you might sit,
A scholar of darkness,
Sequestered over the sea,
Wearing a clear tiara
Of red and blue and red,
Sparkling, solitary, still,
In the high sea-shadow.
Donna, donna, dark,
Stooping in indigo gown
And cloudy constellations,
Conceal yourself or disclose
Fewest things to the lover--
A hand that bears a thick-leaved fruit,
A pungent bloom against your shade.
4.5k
It was as it had been, but the
Ring of oak
Shattered,
What was locked behind
Ventured Forward caressing
Bark,
Leaf,
Wood
Was tainted upon its departure.
Hollow structure, a leaf now skeletal
In a moment decayed from life,
Did touch upon depressed oak.
And like ash it was pollen of death, in
What once stood tall, faded into oblivions halls.
All but one did fade to the winds,
As freed upon the world old evil,
Not one noticed, never seen,
This oak of strength from which acorns
Did fall,
Sunken beneath the ground,
Nurtured by the nature, now scarred
Upon black seeds
Corrupting,
Tormenting,
Stained
Is the ground, but these majestic little
Things grow, sprout from the ill ground.
Where tainted now roots invigorate
New growth, the evil is herded upon
This ancient ground, where many had fell,
Now new ones take the places of old,
They are a beacon of strength as that which
Was loose now in this ring of oak.
Buried for time once more for each one
That falls, another acorn will fall to take its
Majestic place,
The old ring of oak, canopy of secrets hoping never to be told.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Looking in the mirror is like a death wish
A glimor of hope before the horrid thoughts cime floading in
Screaming at the top of their lungs.
And the tears rush to the surface as I pinch my skin
Grabbing it tight
Pulling at it with all my might
Wishing
Wanting for it all to dissapear just like myself
As i slowly turn and turn that small glimor of hope gone
Flushed away by the rotton words that captivate my body
Screamimg for me to
"STOP EATING"
I walk away woth a heavy heart sinking down to the lowest part of me
Hiding away frim anyone
Ignoring every word spoken to me.
My mind
My body
My whole being has been captured by those fithly words and throughts which are tormenting me and eating me alive
Without a word
Or
A thought i move on frim the plate of fruit and the bowl of chocolates
Swinging with a heart heavy,
Yet filled with nothing
I act like it has no effect on me
Like it doesnt hurt at all
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
turning her charms so slow.
he smiles,
in the wetness of his reward
cranking and cranking!
winding her in notch after notch
tormenting her to madness.
all her dreams melt into him
as his promised shards hit deep
****** after ******
his jagged edge cuts to bleed
her mind and body
leading her to a valley of darkness
bellows and cries
relentlessly in her crescent moon
the moans swelling
from the corners of her abyss
he stabs wildly
in the glare of her darkshine
leaving the streaks of fingerprints
across her window pane
devilishly in his detail of precision
distorting her pleasure in pain
the legs of her willingness spread wide
her Innocence weeps nectar
tears from the depths of her
obscene layers of unseen obsession
unfold the heated flower
of her awaken phoenix-fire
tightening the gaps of her resistances
enraging his beast to survival
forcing his fight for freedom
thrashing away
his ***** courage leading the way
she finally surrenders
to his death blows
in total disregard in retaliation
she strikes a venomous bite
to his throat and lips
her poisonous kiss
their last breath shares
perspiration's sweet scent of exhaustion
as their life force drains to one
from their lust of the battle
in their pursuit to win the war of passion
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 12:57 PM UTC
There's a tree that rest in middle of forest.
A beautiful evergreen tree
Just as shiny and precious as a Jade.
May all the seasons change ,
Let it rain ,storm, snow, and shine.
The beautiful evergreen tree still
Stands just as shiny as a full moon
on a midsummer night.
It's so astonishing to glare.
This rare Evergreen Tree .
A beautiful Blue Jay Bird
An striking blue bird colored like the ocean .
Fierce bird as the tormenting waves .
A bird call of heaven
So sweet , adorable
Migrating to post to post.
The blue jay sway into
The evergreen tree.
It tweeted on its delicate branch.
A beautiful humming tune , sound of the heavens
Slowly it cured the tiny imperfections
that linger around the tree.
An impeccable romance
A beautiful bond establish.
May the seasons change .
Thunderstorm, Snow, Hurricanes ,Tsunami
The evergreen tree will glow sanely
Under the moonlight always waiting
for the Blue Jay to visit
To listen for the humming tune of a romance
Under the deep moonlight on a midsummer night
Blue Jay & Evergreen Tree
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:03 AM UTC
It was a chance meeting, I knew not what was ahead,
random walks, conversations, coffees and smokes,
days into nights and then early mornings...
chances random and make believe,
hints, assumptions, misconceptions and conditions.
I wanted to but couldn't see behind the blur.
It was too eerie when i came out all alone,
but I could see you across the road.
You held my hand till I was safe.
You let go when I wanted to not...
Days diluting into painful night times,
actions tormenting, waves of coldness.
Through months, often shivering,
crying, running back to you.
Dejected, lonely, you'd hold me,
take away all my pain.
Sometimes, you would cause it,
the rain would howl and cry...
There was a sudden change of heart,
you wanted more sunshine than rain,
no tears, coming close again,
tongue-tied, lip-locked joys...
In a blink of an eye, you vanished.
Punishing me for sins undone.
Thorned and unloved i hold on...
the void takes up all the space...
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
I chase these ideals...
These versions of my life that don't exist,
They just become tormenting fantasies,
Sometimes, destroying everything I love in the process...
I begin to analyze the concept of what's "deserved,"
Deserved by whom?
Who's the authority?
The sky's the limit?
Not when you're shackled to the ground, shackled by the wake of your past,
You can't escape your shadows,
Lost in mistake after mistake,
Like a stone of scar tissue,
There's nothing left to wound,
Which exit did I miss?
Maybe I should have gotten off this road a long time ago,
What went wrong?
What went right?
Love, family, life, dreams...
This game full of tricks, fools, dogs, and thieves,
Blessed or cursed,
It's all this relative facade,
Romanticizations and fairytales,
You've got yours and I've got mine,
A nonsensical masquerade,
Wrapped in oblivion,
By dawn, the masks come off,
No one's dancing,
And we're left standing naked with our truths, our choices, and our pain,
Daily reminders all around,
Everything is dulled,
A shimmering lackluster,
Sensations numbed,
Spare me sensationalization,
Please don't offer me prescriptions,
Don't offer me subscriptions,
They don't disguise the lies,
They don't smooth out the wrinkles of the sweet, euphemistically, sugarcoated descriptions of what is and what will never be...
Clandestine connections,
Undeniable, as we spiral through this network of intimate caves...
Slipped into a hole years ago,
Never seemed to crawl out..
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
Words, oh how they convict us.
Even worse, words left unsaid, how they restrict us
Floating in an abyss of wonder and confusion
I've asked myself, is love a delusion?
A question I've pondered all of my years
Circling my mind
Bringing me to tears
I've gone so long, being alone
But when I met you,
I found my home.
Love is lost and love is found
Like a tormenting version of a merry go round
Sometimes that feeling will flutter away
Taking with it our beautiful, happiest days
And as much as it pains me to see it go
I find sanctity in watching you glow
In time I hope you'll flap my way, by then I'll be better
And I hope you'll stay
Because when love gets lost
Its not gone for good
Something just unearthed the ground that she stood
Yes it's true, sweet love, she's still there
Waiting patiently as the small warmth inside you, though you're unaware
When love leaves, she goes without a sound
It seems like goodbye forever
But she's just waiting to be found
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, feel with others and make them understood:->
in her feels not mine to be
in her exclamations a secret to the seeking havens I see
just from the beginning
I confess I blurt must
bring respect to hands of dust
undone by the noise
maybe breathed to the wrong soils
for me to you its a pathetic muse
for you to me its a phenomenal---an interlude
wrapped around a neck a tormenting noose
for the lines might be altogether attached
yet by the hearts ultimately snatched
yet the pieces left broken
swept under the deeps of the rug gone unspoken
strangling up to the muffled tears
been shed been dear
even when life is brought to its feet
still bound to magnetize
she drugs our feels
your moons---a blessing in a demon to the darks
not a silver not a golden not a dime a ricocheting stark
painted on ceilings
are you an angel haunted by the devils???
seems like God is unfair
sorting mindlessly things just for hearts to rebel
a past life you wish you could speak of you may
from them those of the brutal realizes to draw out through the way
disguised on the pretends
you pay
so **** miserable for me to digest to decay
what about you the owner
of a curse everyday???
believed to be a sad sad serenade
just from the no ending
where I await a second
I confess I blurt I must say
------ravenfeels
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 12:57 PM UTC
The final breath is entreated by the breaths of wind,
the sky returns again as the stormy clouds depart.
Droplets of water, from seas all over Earth
Puddles of mud which use to be dirt.
Centuries of creation all about,
Weep as fast as the swimming trout.
The morning birth of the turtle doves,
peaceful and sad to see the dark night.
The atmosphere of peace in might,
As it pecks its way out of shell.
Beneath the bone of its mother,
She nurtures without a bother.
The evening loss of dogs of war.
At last the threat returns,
****** turned out of sores.
Teacher sick of burns.
Fire of skies tormenting,
Precipitate of dirt fomenting.
The freedom of the snake is not so seditious,
It feeds on the nest of the turtle dove.
Protect O mother-bird your love,
Jettison the hatred deep inside,
And **** the snake with severely brutal guile.
The final wind is shakened by the quakes of ground.
Hurt is one dove but there is three.
Enough to go around,
Eaten as food by thee.
Hurt I'm, Hurt I be, nature you sicken me.
Nature you sicken me.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:42 AM UTC
Trials and tribulations
Tests and persecutions
Trying times
Tormenting periods
They are all for a season
For faith workout reasons
My friend, do not cower
Let your faith rise like a tower
I won't give up
I won't give in
I won't cave in
This is my faith
And this too shall pass
Soon, I will look back and say
Yay, Season has changed!
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 6:49 AM UTC
My mind has been tormenting me
Constant thoughts of self doubt
Such ill contempt for myself
And it seems to only get worse
I’m trying desperately to push back
But with each day it grows stronger
Pushing me back into a corner
Making me feel small and weak
There are times where I’d win
There are times when it’s a draw
But times like these hurt so bad
Because I’m losing a battle with myself
Sometimes it goes so far
As to make me cry in misery
Begging for my thoughts to be wrong
Hoping and praying that I’ll be okay
Other times it causes me to go numb
To not be able to feel at all
Those are the times I fear the most
It’s when I become the most self sabotaging
I don’t want my brain to win
I can’t let these thoughts cloud my mind
But the harder I fight
The stronger they seem to become
And what hurts the most
Is my past traumas
Becoming worse and worse
Making me lose my ability to trust again
Over the last few years
I have found out that even actions
Are not to be trusted
Much like someone’s word
I’m trying to hard to correct that mindset
To learn to trust again
But the more I try
The harder it gets
I met someone new a few months ago
Someone I really care for and love
But because of my past
My head is evil
Making me question everything I do
Making me question the faith I have for him
All these sabotaging thoughts
And I fight them off everyday
I wish someone told me that dating
After serious trauma is inflicted
Would be harder than anything
Especially with how bad mine was
Maybe I could have prepared myself better
Or tried harder to correct my issue with trust
Maybe I could have healed my pain
So my mind wouldn’t push me away
Because this pain is so much worse
Than the trauma I endured
So much worse than the suffering
I dealt with afterwards
Far worse than the death of a loved one
I feel alone in my suffering
Surrounded by mockery
Silently crying to myself
I don’t know if I’ll be able to win this battle
Not by myself at least
But who do you turn to
When you can’t even trust yourself
Sep 24, 2021
Sep 24, 2021 at 5:39 PM UTC