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"traumatic" poems
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness where my eyes can see but it's like my head is just pitch black and I almost wish I couldn't see anything, like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while sometimes I get stuck in this space and I feel like my tears and my thoughts are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat blocking my airway suffocating me from the inside maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings that don't take over my mind crawl through my head like little worms eating away at my brain my thoughts my skin have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind Shiver through your body like it was a demon you let in through a memory- through a word maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed because I wasn't strong enough my depression fills me to the brim fills my head and my chest my arms and my fingers I can feel it moving through my body I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue how can you expect me to have the energy to fight how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone to open my mouth how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel I feel so worthless in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything it's taking everything but my skin and it disgusts me can you imagine the feeling, having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately It felt like you needed to be cleansed like you needed a shower take that feeling now imagine it being under your skin imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you imagine all you wanted to do was to GET IT OFF and you can't no matter how hard you try you can't scrape it off you can't claw It off imagine you're scared of spiders now imagine you're covered in spiders and someone's holding down your arms so you can't get them off imagine them walking on your skin in your mouth crawling on your open eyes in your ears you're cringing at your own skin You can feel them going down your throat Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach in every crevice of your body their tunneling under your skin and you can't get them off what are you supposed to do but cry
0
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:30 PM UTC
bellabutton
Maybe there's a reason I never told you.
Sometimes I get stuck in this state of Darkness where my eyes can see but it's like my head is just pitch black and I almost wish I couldn't see anything, like I wish I could just curl myself into a ball so tightly that I disappear from space for a while sometimes I get stuck in this space and I feel like my tears and my thoughts are climbing up my esophagus and clogging my throat blocking my airway suffocating me from the inside maybe I never told you I was depressed because who wants to relive that moment that choking hazard moment of cotton ***** in my throat maybe I never told you I was depressed because there are no words I can use to describe it that don't transform themselves into their meanings that don't take over my mind crawl through my head like little worms eating away at my brain my thoughts my skin have you ever thought of a traumatic experience and then felt those events happening again felt the dark hole of life-threatening-trauma attack your mind Shiver through your body like it was a demon you let in through a memory- through a word maybe I didn't tell you I was depressed because I wasn't strong enough my depression fills me to the brim fills my head and my chest my arms and my fingers I can feel it moving through my body I can feel it expanding and engulfing everything inside of me every last vein, nerve, ***** and tissue how can you expect me to have the energy to fight how can you expect me to have the energy to pick up the phone to open my mouth how can you expect me to have energy-to have the courage to utter the words of how I feel I feel so worthless in those moments I feel like there's this black whole inside me and it's consuming everything it's taking everything but my skin and it disgusts me can you imagine the feeling, having something so utterly repulsive on your skin you had to scrape it off immediately It felt like you needed to be cleansed like you needed a shower take that feeling now imagine it being under your skin imagine, every muscle ***** vein nerve every cell in your body underneath your epidermis disgusts you imagine all you wanted to do was to GET IT OFF and you can't no matter how hard you try you can't scrape it off you can't claw It off imagine you're scared of spiders now imagine you're covered in spiders and someone's holding down your arms so you can't get them off imagine them walking on your skin in your mouth crawling on your open eyes in your ears you're cringing at your own skin You can feel them going down your throat Their disgusting tickle in the pit of your stomach in every crevice of your body their tunneling under your skin and you can't get them off what are you supposed to do but cry
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70
Why go back when you can move forward? I face this question each day I breathe. It's not always so easy to answer. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Keeps me looking back to my past behind my shoulder. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Usually associated with our war heroes. The ones who can't leave the battlefield behind. I am not one of them. I am just an anxious a depressed in pain person. But I can't help that I have it. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder My battlefield was the school, the classrooms, the playground. The babysitter, the dark closets, the dark rooms, the basement. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder The anxiety the migraines the depression the fibro no sleep. All lead back to square one. The abuse by my peers by my teachers by my babysitter. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Four easy letters Four simple words Lifetime in pain from those simple things from those not so simple things. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
0
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
notputtinganythinghere
PTSD
Why go back when you can move forward? I face this question each day I breathe. It's not always so easy to answer. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Keeps me looking back to my past behind my shoulder. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Usually associated with our war heroes. The ones who can't leave the battlefield behind. I am not one of them. I am just an anxious a depressed in pain person. But I can't help that I have it. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder My battlefield was the school, the classrooms, the playground. The babysitter, the dark closets, the dark rooms, the basement. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder The anxiety the migraines the depression the fibro no sleep. All lead back to square one. The abuse by my peers by my teachers by my babysitter. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Four easy letters Four simple words Lifetime in pain from those simple things from those not so simple things. P T S D Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
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93
Polite Typical Smiley Daughter Pointlessly Trusting School District Professor Turns-blind-eye Struggling Drastically Packets Turn-to Stacks Deficient Panic Attacks Turn-to Self Destruction Pulling Teeth Sick Design Plans To Stop Discussing Peace To-her Silence Disturbs People Talked She Distracted Passed The Snacks-to Dinners Pulled The Same Dimensions Pre-K Then Smaller Didn't Pause Third-Grade So Dead Parents Though She Drowned Piled Thoughts Suffocated-her Dexterity Patient There Suffering Depression Problems To-many-to Score Dispute Progress That Shockingly Developed Potentially Taken-away-the Suffering Dramatically Poor Tiny Sweet Doll Part Traumatized Sleep Deprived Phobic though Sixth grade Doesn't Play Though Six-Years-of Death Until... The little girl, learned she had, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and, school treating her badly is only one of her three traumatizing events.
0
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
GodDamnItCat
PTSD
Polite Typical Smiley Daughter Pointlessly Trusting School District Professor Turns-blind-eye Struggling Drastically Packets Turn-to Stacks Deficient Panic Attacks Turn-to Self Destruction Pulling Teeth Sick Design Plans To Stop Discussing Peace To-her Silence Disturbs People Talked She Distracted Passed The Snacks-to Dinners Pulled The Same Dimensions Pre-K Then Smaller Didn't Pause Third-Grade So Dead Parents Though She Drowned Piled Thoughts Suffocated-her Dexterity Patient There Suffering Depression Problems To-many-to Score Dispute Progress That Shockingly Developed Potentially Taken-away-the Suffering Dramatically Poor Tiny Sweet Doll Part Traumatized Sleep Deprived Phobic though Sixth grade Doesn't Play Though Six-Years-of Death Until... The little girl, learned she had, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and, school treating her badly is only one of her three traumatizing events.
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98
Somedays my thoughts shriek so loud that they congest the rest of my mind other days they chant lullaby's as if nothing traumatic has ever happened one moment i'm up the next im crumbling to my knees one or the other its consistent drowning with no one to rescue me I'm keen on telling myself its all in my head at times, but doctors tell me its all me but for gods sake do they realize what horrid phrases the voices scream? death would be so heavenly I long for the passing of sides im awaiting to go home where its all white and peaceful i have days where im so narcissistic; I swear I can commence the world as if every millisecond is a luxury of sighs and sounds at moments my dispute comes out so rapid all i get is crooked looks and mumbles some days, I love him other times I swear he's the devil in disguise during my manic episodes you spoke soft as if I was a fallen angle that was overflowing with life. You had mentioned a world that disculded me was a world you cannot exist in You said I influenced your heart to skip beats, that I saved you, I was your fresh air Once he witnessed myself during a dreadful episode you declared loving me was exhausting and space is what you desired for hell could i control this? he was the one isolated concept I could ever make my ******* mind up about I loved him; I love him he said that his devotion to me was similar to staring into a black hole but seeing the reflection of the delicate sunset it never made sense to him BUT HELL DID IT MAKE SENSE TO ME? when he stranded me, i couldn't help but dissolve in tears i was nowhere adjacent to happy but that's all I've ever comprehended my doctor says they've observed a change maybe its the sleepless weeks and collection of mood stabilizers consuming pills in hopes to not feel so ******* empty anticipating on my next manic episode waiting for the door to open to go home If I have learned anything from living with BPD it is im constantly dilapidated upon everything one day soon I hope to recover from this disorder that replicates a loud room without recognizing how loud it was and all I hear is the ringing in my ears that doesn't seem to have an end some day this will be over some day my lover will stay I pray to fall in love with another angel again
0
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
alisha-mcleod
Living with BPD( Bipolar Disorder)
Somedays my thoughts shriek so loud that they congest the rest of my mind other days they chant lullaby's as if nothing traumatic has ever happened one moment i'm up the next im crumbling to my knees one or the other its consistent drowning with no one to rescue me I'm keen on telling myself its all in my head at times, but doctors tell me its all me but for gods sake do they realize what horrid phrases the voices scream? death would be so heavenly I long for the passing of sides im awaiting to go home where its all white and peaceful i have days where im so narcissistic; I swear I can commence the world as if every millisecond is a luxury of sighs and sounds at moments my dispute comes out so rapid all i get is crooked looks and mumbles some days, I love him other times I swear he's the devil in disguise during my manic episodes you spoke soft as if I was a fallen angle that was overflowing with life. You had mentioned a world that disculded me was a world you cannot exist in You said I influenced your heart to skip beats, that I saved you, I was your fresh air Once he witnessed myself during a dreadful episode you declared loving me was exhausting and space is what you desired for hell could i control this? he was the one isolated concept I could ever make my ******* mind up about I loved him; I love him he said that his devotion to me was similar to staring into a black hole but seeing the reflection of the delicate sunset it never made sense to him BUT HELL DID IT MAKE SENSE TO ME? when he stranded me, i couldn't help but dissolve in tears i was nowhere adjacent to happy but that's all I've ever comprehended my doctor says they've observed a change maybe its the sleepless weeks and collection of mood stabilizers consuming pills in hopes to not feel so ******* empty anticipating on my next manic episode waiting for the door to open to go home If I have learned anything from living with BPD it is im constantly dilapidated upon everything one day soon I hope to recover from this disorder that replicates a loud room without recognizing how loud it was and all I hear is the ringing in my ears that doesn't seem to have an end some day this will be over some day my lover will stay I pray to fall in love with another angel again
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58
{i remember} She comes to presence in a great wave of grief that has no bottom. {water cannot swim} Feeling the unbearable weight of womanhood tearing me open, revealing my own sorrows. {a channel of life} To be a gate of love and blood, the flesh of desire, bearer of all burdens, was so traumatic I was reborn in the body of a man.
0
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
misadventuresofcrow
Womanhood
{i remember} She comes to presence in a great wave of grief that has no bottom. {water cannot swim} Feeling the unbearable weight of womanhood tearing me open, revealing my own sorrows. {a channel of life} To be a gate of love and blood, the flesh of desire, bearer of all burdens, was so traumatic I was reborn in the body of a man.
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15
I’m sick of hearing my life’s a haiku. I’m into magic, love, and other sorts of things that are typically voodoo. I’m half ***** from a half assed absent African baby boomer brat. I’m half white trash. Here’s a well formed of dried tears turned into something to sooth my canine teeth. It tastes like Moonshine. I can’t swim anymore, so I’m here drowning in a concrete pool. Always, I look for the hell in you. I sharpen my boot knife for ****** assault protection. The first swipes for the plus 200,000 in counting. The seconds for the 66 percent underreported. The lasts for me, the 29 percent victims aged 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, and 12. We have a higher rate of risking everything. For depression x3. For committing suicide x4. For post traumatic stress disorder x6. For alcohol abuse x13. For drug abuse x26. You all think I’m crazy, I’m not. I sometimes get called stupid, ugly, ***** and thot. I’m in pain, in sorrow. I can’t help it. He did it. No one can undo it. What do we do about it? I wont scream, I won't cry. I’ll ask how he’s doing with glitter and tears in the corner of my eye. And after he's done molesting me, "Want to go grab some coffee or tea?" Personally, I like the cafe down the street. They sell good brunch with amazing croissants. And after this is over, I’d ask him how it was while he turned me over.
0
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
novelworkings
//Modest Proposal
I’m sick of hearing my life’s a haiku. I’m into magic, love, and other sorts of things that are typically voodoo. I’m half ***** from a half assed absent African baby boomer brat. I’m half white trash. Here’s a well formed of dried tears turned into something to sooth my canine teeth. It tastes like Moonshine. I can’t swim anymore, so I’m here drowning in a concrete pool. Always, I look for the hell in you. I sharpen my boot knife for ****** assault protection. The first swipes for the plus 200,000 in counting. The seconds for the 66 percent underreported. The lasts for me, the 29 percent victims aged 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, and 12. We have a higher rate of risking everything. For depression x3. For committing suicide x4. For post traumatic stress disorder x6. For alcohol abuse x13. For drug abuse x26. You all think I’m crazy, I’m not. I sometimes get called stupid, ugly, ***** and thot. I’m in pain, in sorrow. I can’t help it. He did it. No one can undo it. What do we do about it? I wont scream, I won't cry. I’ll ask how he’s doing with glitter and tears in the corner of my eye. And after he's done molesting me, "Want to go grab some coffee or tea?" Personally, I like the cafe down the street. They sell good brunch with amazing croissants. And after this is over, I’d ask him how it was while he turned me over.
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36
Trade,Globalization,Terrorism and Corruption What's the difference? Each of us look at the world with open eyes yet with closed minds. We see the structures of society right before us yet we can do nothing to alter its existence Marxism, Liberalism, Elitism, lenses that see a point but not the whole picture The age of politics is over, the market comes to be our master I know some might argue over me in this, but hear me out still. The world we live in is like a senseless commodity Our natural resources is taken every day To create excess cars, excess food, excess everything The surplus is too much that its overflowing with decay Another thing is war, A place where precious lives are seen to be walking bags of meat. The preach for violence that could've created peace, and for what ? To protect the free world? where the rich sit in high places and some of us pushed down to supply their greed Globalization is a license, a license to what? A license to **** a license to invade other states without the use of soldiers to force out our will We become docile as people in their wake and companies are laughing as we speak. These corrupt figures ,conflict is their business, opportunity and peace is their excuse. Human integration is what they say and offer, for a better society they say. But look at us now, where is the promise of a future in the world today? The world terrorizes me, terrorizes the people who are willing to see and if I am in terror, what makes the system different from the loud bombs we hear when they explode. They only made ways to make the killings silent and the experience more traumatic. I'm sorry if globalization is a bad thing for me, but living in our country, globalization harms before it can give it takes before we can receive.
0
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC
SamirRaezacNadcilac
Globalization
Trade,Globalization,Terrorism and Corruption What's the difference? Each of us look at the world with open eyes yet with closed minds. We see the structures of society right before us yet we can do nothing to alter its existence Marxism, Liberalism, Elitism, lenses that see a point but not the whole picture The age of politics is over, the market comes to be our master I know some might argue over me in this, but hear me out still. The world we live in is like a senseless commodity Our natural resources is taken every day To create excess cars, excess food, excess everything The surplus is too much that its overflowing with decay Another thing is war, A place where precious lives are seen to be walking bags of meat. The preach for violence that could've created peace, and for what ? To protect the free world? where the rich sit in high places and some of us pushed down to supply their greed Globalization is a license, a license to what? A license to **** a license to invade other states without the use of soldiers to force out our will We become docile as people in their wake and companies are laughing as we speak. These corrupt figures ,conflict is their business, opportunity and peace is their excuse. Human integration is what they say and offer, for a better society they say. But look at us now, where is the promise of a future in the world today? The world terrorizes me, terrorizes the people who are willing to see and if I am in terror, what makes the system different from the loud bombs we hear when they explode. They only made ways to make the killings silent and the experience more traumatic. I'm sorry if globalization is a bad thing for me, but living in our country, globalization harms before it can give it takes before we can receive.
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29
Panic Throughout Scary Dreams Patience Tried Summons Danger Personal Turmoil Self Doubt Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
0
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 7:41 AM UTC
tatiana-cody
PTSD
Panic Throughout Scary Dreams Patience Tried Summons Danger Personal Turmoil Self Doubt Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
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16
My scars are NOT just scars sometimes they remind me of traumatic experiences. Sometimes people would stare at them with a look so curious, that I myself, would become furious. Because my scars felt like a punishment of a series of consecutive jail sentences. They had me Feeling overwhelmed by weariness So I put up a fence to hide what I believe was my hideousness. Then my naked eyes realized the true lies, that behinds these marks are where the truth hides My scars are NOT just scars they are Evidence of a Wound, evidence that after pain healing must come soon. My scars are a sign to show Life was adjusted just as a violin being tuned My scars are not just scars they show that I have gone thru a Transformation. My scars are not just scars The give me motivation in my times desperation. My scars aren't just scars They signify even after my trails, I am Triumphed! My scars are Marks Of my pass History to celebrate even I was hurt I have the victory! For Greater is He that is within me. My scars are NOT just scars, they show that God was With me thru it all Truly! My scars are not just scars they are Permanent sacred Marks Of Beauty.
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Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 10:10 PM UTC
tashea-young
"My scars are not just scars"
My scars are NOT just scars sometimes they remind me of traumatic experiences. Sometimes people would stare at them with a look so curious, that I myself, would become furious. Because my scars felt like a punishment of a series of consecutive jail sentences. They had me Feeling overwhelmed by weariness So I put up a fence to hide what I believe was my hideousness. Then my naked eyes realized the true lies, that behinds these marks are where the truth hides My scars are NOT just scars they are Evidence of a Wound, evidence that after pain healing must come soon. My scars are a sign to show Life was adjusted just as a violin being tuned My scars are not just scars they show that I have gone thru a Transformation. My scars are not just scars The give me motivation in my times desperation. My scars aren't just scars They signify even after my trails, I am Triumphed! My scars are Marks Of my pass History to celebrate even I was hurt I have the victory! For Greater is He that is within me. My scars are NOT just scars, they show that God was With me thru it all Truly! My scars are not just scars they are Permanent sacred Marks Of Beauty.
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14
Beginning in WWI, The men were at war, Fighting, killing, Causing their own Post Traumatic Stress. And we stayed. Our country, our families needed us. We replaced them. The men. We replaced them In their jobs. We did as they did. We kept the country and the troops On their feet. Created weapons. Kept businesses running, Did the banking. The women took charge for once. The war and the economic trouble got us On our feet and we did the same For our nation and our men. Some did not like that we were working as they had, Walking in their shoes, but we sure did.
0
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
trip-through-time
Fe- iron. Male- man. That's what Women Are.
Beginning in WWI, The men were at war, Fighting, killing, Causing their own Post Traumatic Stress. And we stayed. Our country, our families needed us. We replaced them. The men. We replaced them In their jobs. We did as they did. We kept the country and the troops On their feet. Created weapons. Kept businesses running, Did the banking. The women took charge for once. The war and the economic trouble got us On our feet and we did the same For our nation and our men. Some did not like that we were working as they had, Walking in their shoes, but we sure did.
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18
Sweaty face bright purple and greasy I used to hide my body between the pages But he told me to not read any more Itchy head heated enough to make tea My eyes are now how the trees say my name My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well ************ sad wrapped in plastic Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin It may well be irrational excuses Womb nervous and not worthy Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses Highly sensitive person excuses Delayed maturity excuses Premenstrual syndrome excuses Premature menopause excuses Abusive motherhood at 5 Traumatic childhood at 18 What happens in between stays in between
0
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 1:00 PM UTC
Pea
Old TV Projects
Sweaty face bright purple and greasy I used to hide my body between the pages But he told me to not read any more Itchy head heated enough to make tea My eyes are now how the trees say my name My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well ************ sad wrapped in plastic Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin It may well be irrational excuses Womb nervous and not worthy Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses Highly sensitive person excuses Delayed maturity excuses Premenstrual syndrome excuses Premature menopause excuses Abusive motherhood at 5 Traumatic childhood at 18 What happens in between stays in between
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21
I recently have noticed how sick I look on you everytime you post a pic or share a moment I look sick following you Everytime that you try to make your life apart I look sick when I follow you not through dark alleys but on twitter, facebook or instagram I am not used to write odd modern poetry but you deserve a reason to why I started unfollowing you So, everytime you upload a last-night-party pic I want you to know I won't be there looking for every guy you were hanging around with Because lately I've noticed that I look sick not for following you exactly but for being aware of what you were doing I'm sick of being a post instead of being a memory I'm sick of social media and their way of twisting things Making us more a number or dates instead of making us "friends" (who says that you can't be friend with your ex? maybe ancient rules, maybe an idiot with post-traumatic-relationship-stress) I'm sick of "follows", "tweets", "likes" ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends I'm unfollowing you for my health I'm unfollowing the entire world 'cause constantly they remind me to you with all their fake friends and ***** guys and ***** girls; ******* attention that maybe they don't truely deserve Yeah, probably I should unfollow the world for my health
0
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
NonFunctionalAuthor
Unfollow
I recently have noticed how sick I look on you everytime you post a pic or share a moment I look sick following you Everytime that you try to make your life apart I look sick when I follow you not through dark alleys but on twitter, facebook or instagram I am not used to write odd modern poetry but you deserve a reason to why I started unfollowing you So, everytime you upload a last-night-party pic I want you to know I won't be there looking for every guy you were hanging around with Because lately I've noticed that I look sick not for following you exactly but for being aware of what you were doing I'm sick of being a post instead of being a memory I'm sick of social media and their way of twisting things Making us more a number or dates instead of making us "friends" (who says that you can't be friend with your ex? maybe ancient rules, maybe an idiot with post-traumatic-relationship-stress) I'm sick of "follows", "tweets", "likes" ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends I'm unfollowing you for my health I'm unfollowing the entire world 'cause constantly they remind me to you with all their fake friends and ***** guys and ***** girls; ******* attention that maybe they don't truely deserve Yeah, probably I should unfollow the world for my health
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45
70 years of supposed independence Yet no real freedom for women In a society dominated by men Drowned, is a woman's voice We need Azadi from Patriarchy Money and power aren't everything Without love, life is nothing Above all, are relationships and life quality Is there no end to **** Why is marital **** legal? Our system is so feudal Marriage is such a shame Marred by domestic violence Divorce, a traumatic experience No freedom to choose her career Family is supposed to be better No freedom for inter-religious marriage If she does, it's labelled Love Jihad Frankly, we are tired Demand an end to this carnage She can dress as she pleases She can roam at night She can marry anyone she loves To question her, you have no right
0
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
Ashwinkumar1989
We need Azadi from Patriarchy
70 years of supposed independence Yet no real freedom for women In a society dominated by men Drowned, is a woman's voice We need Azadi from Patriarchy Money and power aren't everything Without love, life is nothing Above all, are relationships and life quality Is there no end to **** Why is marital **** legal? Our system is so feudal Marriage is such a shame Marred by domestic violence Divorce, a traumatic experience No freedom to choose her career Family is supposed to be better No freedom for inter-religious marriage If she does, it's labelled Love Jihad Frankly, we are tired Demand an end to this carnage She can dress as she pleases She can roam at night She can marry anyone she loves To question her, you have no right
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24
I hide behind a mind engulfed with poisonous secrets I dare not to leave my mouth. My feet are buried in shackles latched onto them while my skin drips in doubt. My hands are stitch behind my back with threads of weakness. My mouth expands while the truth is caged behind my teeth because it’s no one business. I open my eyes and it flutters more than a bird in fear from a threat. I lean my head to the side and analyze this disastrous home tormented by time but hasn’t given up yet. I watched it light on fire. I’ve seen it dismantled by hurricanes. I heard the walls and wood creak from the distress. How can a foundation be so strong after a wave of events? We all are broken homes at some point of life even if it doesn’t make sense. Financial crisis, heartbreak, anxiety, school, family, work, depression, racism, we all experience a wave that changes us for the better or for the worst. Sometimes it becomes so consistent like an epidemic that one can feel curse. Then we question, “why did I go through this? What did I do to deserve such a traumatic blow to the head?” And we search for these answers in the same place that hugged us with so much agony and the countless stress it led. Early nights turn to restless nights in bed because we force reality to sink in our head but it covers our nose and mouth until we faint in a pool of insecurity and beg for these feelings to dead. Make it stop, I’m drowning. The sky turns to a bruised face and wakes up the roots with its tears. I feel so connected as the drops fall to the floor because it reminds me we all break no matter how much we can bear. I observe the rain dance on the sturdy house and admire it as the beauty glisten, I grew a love for this home because it rebuild as much as despondence knocked on the door, it ignored and refused to listen. It upholds its commitment to itself to never give up. That no matter how much times it can get rough, Know that you can survive and pretending your problems don’t exist will never be enough. -dpk
0
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 3:05 PM UTC
islandlove
Battered Home
I hide behind a mind engulfed with poisonous secrets I dare not to leave my mouth. My feet are buried in shackles latched onto them while my skin drips in doubt. My hands are stitch behind my back with threads of weakness. My mouth expands while the truth is caged behind my teeth because it’s no one business. I open my eyes and it flutters more than a bird in fear from a threat. I lean my head to the side and analyze this disastrous home tormented by time but hasn’t given up yet. I watched it light on fire. I’ve seen it dismantled by hurricanes. I heard the walls and wood creak from the distress. How can a foundation be so strong after a wave of events? We all are broken homes at some point of life even if it doesn’t make sense. Financial crisis, heartbreak, anxiety, school, family, work, depression, racism, we all experience a wave that changes us for the better or for the worst. Sometimes it becomes so consistent like an epidemic that one can feel curse. Then we question, “why did I go through this? What did I do to deserve such a traumatic blow to the head?” And we search for these answers in the same place that hugged us with so much agony and the countless stress it led. Early nights turn to restless nights in bed because we force reality to sink in our head but it covers our nose and mouth until we faint in a pool of insecurity and beg for these feelings to dead. Make it stop, I’m drowning. The sky turns to a bruised face and wakes up the roots with its tears. I feel so connected as the drops fall to the floor because it reminds me we all break no matter how much we can bear. I observe the rain dance on the sturdy house and admire it as the beauty glisten, I grew a love for this home because it rebuild as much as despondence knocked on the door, it ignored and refused to listen. It upholds its commitment to itself to never give up. That no matter how much times it can get rough, Know that you can survive and pretending your problems don’t exist will never be enough. -dpk
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Loves' tribute; was a traumatic bloodletting, at the feet of Earths' foundation, passed over through resurrection, as the author; Perfect, penned the first song, startling in Red; chorused; Sacrifice and Redemption. A soul melody, padlocked on repeat, a key, to live, to move, to exist; the act of human being. A dance of humiliating instruction, 'twas the universe's orchestra simply conducting; a priceless, yet eternal concerto, forever titled... ‘Unique-Spring-Awakening’ © Qwey.ku
0
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:56 AM UTC
Qweyku
ORCHESTRAL MOVEMENT
Loves' tribute; was a traumatic bloodletting, at the feet of Earths' foundation, passed over through resurrection, as the author; Perfect, penned the first song, startling in Red; chorused; Sacrifice and Redemption. A soul melody, padlocked on repeat, a key, to live, to move, to exist; the act of human being. A dance of humiliating instruction, 'twas the universe's orchestra simply conducting; a priceless, yet eternal concerto, forever titled... ‘Unique-Spring-Awakening’ © Qwey.ku
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23
I will take this. I have to. Even if it breaks me. Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again. And it has. It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as “damaged goods” Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again. Normal is a thing of the past. This is what’s happening now. Broken pieces. Everywhere. Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time. It’s like screaming without a voice. They said there’d be waves. They essentially promised. They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in. Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart. But there haven’t been any waves. They were wrong. Instead the pain is dull. It is constant. But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time. The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire. It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through. They get out. This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop. It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go. It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically. I. Am. Too. Weak. Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well. But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”. And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me. There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time. There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up. And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop. In hopes that one day, I can go on without him. So I’ll pray.
0
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
h-2
The Death Of My Twin
I will take this. I have to. Even if it breaks me. Even if it breaks me into a million pieces that nobody can put together again. And it has. It has broken me into so many fragmented pieces; I’m now what they refer to as “damaged goods” Something so traumatic, I’ll never be normal again. Normal is a thing of the past. This is what’s happening now. Broken pieces. Everywhere. Every time I fix a piece, another breaks. I feel like I’m holding myself together with tape and glue and it’s not going to be enough. I don’t know what else to say, but it’s too much and it's not enough. All at the same time. It’s like screaming without a voice. They said there’d be waves. They essentially promised. They said that these waves of sadness would come and go. That happiness would slowly seep back in. Weaving its way into the oscillating patterns of a heavy heart. But there haven’t been any waves. They were wrong. Instead the pain is dull. It is constant. But most of all, it’s there. It's there all the time. The constant part is the worst. The only thing I could relate it to is fire. It’s like somebody running through a fire has it easier. Sure they’ll get burned but the point is that they get to run through. They get out. This though? This is like getting caught in the fire and not making it through. This is like a permanent residency in my own personal hell and at some point I really need the fire to be put out; the pain to stop. It has to. There’s only so much a girl can take. It’s like somebody has their dark hand engulfing my heart and they’re squeezing it every day and no matter how I plead, they’re refusing to let go. It’s the greatest sadness I have ever known and it is depleting me emotionally and physically. I. Am. Too. Weak. Everybody keeps saying how strong I am. They have no idea. It’s like I’m the world’s greatest actress and I’ve fooled them all. All they see is somebody taking bad news well. But nobody takes their entire earth shattering “well”. And my earth has shattered. The death of my brother at the age of 21 has shattered me. There’s not one thing I wouldn’t give to go back and hug him just a little longer at the airport three days before he died. It was just supposed to be his last semester at college. Not the end of a life time. There are too many broken pieces. The jagged edges cut my hands. I can’t pick them up. And so now all I can do is pray. With my forehead to the ground and my faith in God I will pray. Pray the pain away in hopes that one day, the happiness is real. And the tears stop. In hopes that one day, I can go on without him. So I’ll pray.
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36
I find myself changing as nature does- recklessly and suddenly without notice, and nature is what I come back to in order to heal. Fires are often looked at as destructive forces, And they surely can be, but they can also Rejuvenate. Contrary to popular belief, fires most Often leave a beautiful aftermath. Some examples Being that certain plant seeds only germinate after A fire, new growth is accessible to animals for food, minerals are returned to the soil, and Although many animals are stripped of their Homes- this vacancy creates suitable areas for New species to settle. Similar to how a fire Cleanses the land it nearly destroys, a traumatic life Experience allows an individual to undergo a necessary Amount of growth and change. Whether what we take From a situation leaves us aching or allows us to reflect, We will always unknowingly benefit from the pain. I do My best to keep this at the forefront of my memory when Reminded of the baggage I carry. My healing will continue. and I will make a promise to myself that for every new fire that disseminates through/over my life, I will make amends with it And allow for it to change me in the best way possible.
0
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 7:55 AM UTC
nicole-whitticar
A better version of myself-
I find myself changing as nature does- recklessly and suddenly without notice, and nature is what I come back to in order to heal. Fires are often looked at as destructive forces, And they surely can be, but they can also Rejuvenate. Contrary to popular belief, fires most Often leave a beautiful aftermath. Some examples Being that certain plant seeds only germinate after A fire, new growth is accessible to animals for food, minerals are returned to the soil, and Although many animals are stripped of their Homes- this vacancy creates suitable areas for New species to settle. Similar to how a fire Cleanses the land it nearly destroys, a traumatic life Experience allows an individual to undergo a necessary Amount of growth and change. Whether what we take From a situation leaves us aching or allows us to reflect, We will always unknowingly benefit from the pain. I do My best to keep this at the forefront of my memory when Reminded of the baggage I carry. My healing will continue. and I will make a promise to myself that for every new fire that disseminates through/over my life, I will make amends with it And allow for it to change me in the best way possible.
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19
therapy and resistance how is it that therapy becomes the excess of class war or the oppression thereof? When the struggle of the individual is made to seem self induced when it is easily and clearly directly a result of the failures and complacence afforded by the majority of the group. When in a therapeutic environment it is important to distinguish the opportunities of resistance from the experience of trauma. there has always been individuals who establish groups that are in a realm of desperation. Understanding how this process has unfolded institutionally is just as valid as treating the individual. This gives the individual the choice and resources needed to heal. The healing could look like resistance rather than assuming aspects of class war or oppressive culture to be normal. Otherwise therapy is nothing but the means to normalize the process of oppression. The traumatic state needs to be able to decipher its organic existence from that of organized oppression and its institutional cooperation. the neglect of deciphering or distinguishing these differences causes individuals to make a competition out of trauma. This minimizes certain trauma of individuals and causes the group to have less of an opportunity to resist organized oppression of the institution. Those that are in the realm of desperation or traumatic state are given no choice but to repress in order to continue being social or a member of the group. in excess the hierarchies of gender, race and class are reinforced to an almost superhuman level. To the desperate or traumatic state… what needs reinforcement is that there are humans just like us who have resisted oppression and caused the normalcy of the group to be more inclusive and aware of the processes associated with organized oppression.
0
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
elan-bonde-gregory
poetry on essays
therapy and resistance how is it that therapy becomes the excess of class war or the oppression thereof? When the struggle of the individual is made to seem self induced when it is easily and clearly directly a result of the failures and complacence afforded by the majority of the group. When in a therapeutic environment it is important to distinguish the opportunities of resistance from the experience of trauma. there has always been individuals who establish groups that are in a realm of desperation. Understanding how this process has unfolded institutionally is just as valid as treating the individual. This gives the individual the choice and resources needed to heal. The healing could look like resistance rather than assuming aspects of class war or oppressive culture to be normal. Otherwise therapy is nothing but the means to normalize the process of oppression. The traumatic state needs to be able to decipher its organic existence from that of organized oppression and its institutional cooperation. the neglect of deciphering or distinguishing these differences causes individuals to make a competition out of trauma. This minimizes certain trauma of individuals and causes the group to have less of an opportunity to resist organized oppression of the institution. Those that are in the realm of desperation or traumatic state are given no choice but to repress in order to continue being social or a member of the group. in excess the hierarchies of gender, race and class are reinforced to an almost superhuman level. To the desperate or traumatic state… what needs reinforcement is that there are humans just like us who have resisted oppression and caused the normalcy of the group to be more inclusive and aware of the processes associated with organized oppression.
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question: do we lose ourselves in the midst of romanticizing or do we unravel our true selves. response: do we lose who we are in the idealistic view of our romantic quests or do we unveil a trait of ourselves that has been there all along? hiding behind the perfect life you saw yourself having before your heart shattered in little tiny pieces when your utopian view took on another perspective. recognizing yourself in a dark state that was clouded by your 'cherry-kissed' outlook on love, you see who you really are. the good, the bad, and the ugly transformed into the hopeless romantic who has only experienced their first heartbreak to then examine every characteristic of themselves and determine if they were 'in the wrong'. your romantic expectations turning you into someone you're not is the controversial topic. but what if it was just the romanticizing that grounded you and brought you back to reality? what if it was the romanticizing that expressed your honest self? what if it were for all of the childhood fantasies and teenage dreams that helped you realize who you want to be with? what if it were for all of the traumatic experiences and unfulfilled relationships  that helped you realize the person you truly are. -mxy
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Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 9:45 PM UTC
mxy
a hopeless romantic's reflection
question: do we lose ourselves in the midst of romanticizing or do we unravel our true selves. response: do we lose who we are in the idealistic view of our romantic quests or do we unveil a trait of ourselves that has been there all along? hiding behind the perfect life you saw yourself having before your heart shattered in little tiny pieces when your utopian view took on another perspective. recognizing yourself in a dark state that was clouded by your 'cherry-kissed' outlook on love, you see who you really are. the good, the bad, and the ugly transformed into the hopeless romantic who has only experienced their first heartbreak to then examine every characteristic of themselves and determine if they were 'in the wrong'. your romantic expectations turning you into someone you're not is the controversial topic. but what if it was just the romanticizing that grounded you and brought you back to reality? what if it was the romanticizing that expressed your honest self? what if it were for all of the childhood fantasies and teenage dreams that helped you realize who you want to be with? what if it were for all of the traumatic experiences and unfulfilled relationships  that helped you realize the person you truly are. -mxy
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*An innocent heart Broken, but somewhat mended, Battered and bruised Is what it is rendered. Torn fragments scattered, Widely spread, Tarnished, traumatic memories Stored in her head. Constantly torturing herself, Wondering how different Life could have been, If, but only, When she was younger, Traumatic situations, She hadn't encountered, Experienced, felt, or seen. She had no choice but to follow The path of forgiveness To remain sane, She realised that long ago, Forgiveness became A minute-by-minute decision   She had to make, But still, her PTSD, Anxiety And Depression didn't leave her... Oh no! She still can't help feeling frustrated, Knowing that her life Wasn't meant to turn-out tainted This way, As grateful as she is For all of her countless blessings, She still cannot rid her tainted, Traumatic memories, They torture her every single, Blessed, precious day. By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
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Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 4:02 AM UTC
Ladyrf
PTSD Awareness - Tainted Life
*An innocent heart Broken, but somewhat mended, Battered and bruised Is what it is rendered. Torn fragments scattered, Widely spread, Tarnished, traumatic memories Stored in her head. Constantly torturing herself, Wondering how different Life could have been, If, but only, When she was younger, Traumatic situations, She hadn't encountered, Experienced, felt, or seen. She had no choice but to follow The path of forgiveness To remain sane, She realised that long ago, Forgiveness became A minute-by-minute decision   She had to make, But still, her PTSD, Anxiety And Depression didn't leave her... Oh no! She still can't help feeling frustrated, Knowing that her life Wasn't meant to turn-out tainted This way, As grateful as she is For all of her countless blessings, She still cannot rid her tainted, Traumatic memories, They torture her every single, Blessed, precious day. By Lady R.F. (C)2017*
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Devastated Mental War Trauma Decapitated Enemies Alone Fear Combat Tortured Lost Sounds Crazy
0
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 8:07 PM UTC
silent-screams
Post Traumatic
Devastated Mental War Trauma Decapitated Enemies Alone Fear Combat Tortured Lost Sounds Crazy
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Damsel in this dress is a damsel in distress she just using clothes to cover up the post traumatic stress, but they barely cover anything-- her lady parts at best, she attracts hood ****** but they barely give her thanks when she gobble up their ***** in her head is regret, her past is her future so abuse is where she heads-- wears her heart on her sleeve so she empty in her chest wearing make up just to make up for the confidence she lacks    and I admit I looked back when you walked by in that sun dress I knew your name around the block bout how you ****** the meanest **** the greatest *** and I imagined if I knew the words for access words to claim your assets dinner did I have to invest-- from a glance,   and at a simple glance back, to advance the fact still remain man plans to slay that, she knows it; the shades on her face tells poem how bright lies jaded minds and money bust her open so who's the poet-- but we judge off her appearance,   and lose our morals, when she throw it back aren't we daring; but aren't we caring making compliments and swearing, smearing make up on our ugly truth conceal, conceal, concealer, you a bad ***** another body is you willing? but to her its more than *** its the embrace its not the feeling, her innocence is safest and awakened when she feels it reminded of the time her boyfriend lied, as he took *** In these predicaments she says its innocent; he loves me, that's after broken rib number 5 she says; he loves me, that's after **** kit the doctor swab; he says I'm worthy, that's after black eye number 9; he says he trust me, he trust me, he trust me, He trust me, He Trust me, He Trust Me, HE TRUST ME, and he never means to hurt me. Problem is my novel is too common, I'll never share his name cause his name is not the problem, he don't deserve my shine or fortune to be acknowledged: Ms. ********** control your hatred, stedfast my mind is changing-- stop judging demons, Contrast.
0
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
shfr
Contrast
Damsel in this dress is a damsel in distress she just using clothes to cover up the post traumatic stress, but they barely cover anything-- her lady parts at best, she attracts hood ****** but they barely give her thanks when she gobble up their ***** in her head is regret, her past is her future so abuse is where she heads-- wears her heart on her sleeve so she empty in her chest wearing make up just to make up for the confidence she lacks    and I admit I looked back when you walked by in that sun dress I knew your name around the block bout how you ****** the meanest **** the greatest *** and I imagined if I knew the words for access words to claim your assets dinner did I have to invest-- from a glance,   and at a simple glance back, to advance the fact still remain man plans to slay that, she knows it; the shades on her face tells poem how bright lies jaded minds and money bust her open so who's the poet-- but we judge off her appearance,   and lose our morals, when she throw it back aren't we daring; but aren't we caring making compliments and swearing, smearing make up on our ugly truth conceal, conceal, concealer, you a bad ***** another body is you willing? but to her its more than *** its the embrace its not the feeling, her innocence is safest and awakened when she feels it reminded of the time her boyfriend lied, as he took *** In these predicaments she says its innocent; he loves me, that's after broken rib number 5 she says; he loves me, that's after **** kit the doctor swab; he says I'm worthy, that's after black eye number 9; he says he trust me, he trust me, he trust me, He trust me, He Trust me, He Trust Me, HE TRUST ME, and he never means to hurt me. Problem is my novel is too common, I'll never share his name cause his name is not the problem, he don't deserve my shine or fortune to be acknowledged: Ms. ********** control your hatred, stedfast my mind is changing-- stop judging demons, Contrast.
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