"traumatised" poems
Frozen in the darkness silence peacefully shrouds me
hoping that I am breathless, praying he wont see,
this sublime sorrow I am gasping in the pain
swallowing bitter tears seconds from insane.
Defining the emotion each and every time
trying not to echo, balancing on the line,
silence is a killer but not my reason to die
hearing in this deafness will always make me cry.
The shadows over take me, speak the unspoken curse
just as well I am dying can't bear to smell this hearse.
Weighed down by lost tomorrows my memory finally broke,
why is it always my own hands gripped to make me choke?
His hug comforts my stomach blindly in his sleep
not knowing in this darkness my eyes can't help but weep,
obscurity plays around me tries to steal my breath
every time I close my eyes I know I’m close to death.
Panic underestimates the power the black withholds
carving me so gently, painless as it moulds
I sweat out my reaction cause words can't find a voice,
helplessly devoted to lay I have no choice.
Everything suffocates can't bear to close my eyes
repeated optimism as I see how everyone dies,
my mind is there to haunt me it never gives me peace
all the pills digested at will, still wont make it cease.
Night is a blur now confused by chemical reaction
convulsions rage as death excels performing its extraction,
in the mix I see his face traumatised by my choice, it's made
but time has gone his actions futile as sight begins to fade,
regret stabs flesh repentantly too late to change effect
I know he’ll cry forever at his failure to correct.
My selfish, vengeful actions will speak louder than my word
he never seen the suicide…do you think he finally heard?
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 7:07 AM UTC
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart.
Spilling out snapshot flashes of life like a flick book's muffled cries.
Controversial plastic shell, elastic strap, stick insect mattel covetted for months
until Santa dropped it down the chimney,
almost as fast as she sprogged and regained her figure
- the original scrummy yummy mummy set to spread low self esteem.
My daddy said anyone can crank out a kid like she did,
as my mother ground her teeth to protest on behalf of her traumatised frame.
Strange, I almost became one of the lost - before I grew cells and self,
another fragile foetus swinging on a noose
from gallows where once a ****** failed to stayed closed.
Little life curled tight self soothing sings al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
as I lie beneath my shroud of sadness filled with down shrinking from the light of day
I want to tell you that I love you,
that my heart brays, beats, bleets, breaks, aches for you.
My soul, spirit, self thrice chorus al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
as waters flow from deep to deep
where danger dances and solace is sought
from beyond the fruitless orchards and willows weeping
branches reaching out for you.
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
surrounded by madonna, ***** and all betwixt
spheres of life protruding, pronounced, announcing themselves;
in streets where bundles, terrors, cherubs, banting, brat and bairn alike
shriek, scream, squeal, shout, squalk, squabble, sing
in a cacophony that makes my heart weep and ache in longing
to sing to self in solitude al na tivke iredem bim'nucha.
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
pulsating thoughts, dreams, hopes of you through the whole of me.
Brought to my knees I seek wisdom, guidence, strength to let you go.
The river is waiting for you, you who I hold tight in my caul
trying to trust, seeking strength to hakshev le'ivshat haga'lim
holding the thought of you,
the love of you,
the hope of you
tight in my arms crooning my lullaby of lament
al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:57 PM UTC
I’ve been treating myself like there is something very wrong with me, particularly my emotions. Every emotion I get (most often, my “negative” ones), I’ve been monitoring and trying to control, when all I simply needed to do was to allow for their expression and not do anything. For a long, long time I’ve considered myself to be someone ill and in need of healing; what a difference a label makes. To be “ill”, in essence requires that someone “do” something to fix themselves as a “problem”. The very nature of thinking yourself “ill” promotes action and effort. I’m glad I don’t go to a dr, can you imagine how many other disorders and syndromes I would have to “fight” and contend with.
A lot of the time when someone gets traumatised, or undergoes some sort of negative event, they always look to the happy part of themselves as the “real” them, or at least the part of them deemed to be acceptable enough to be “real”. They lament losing the “real” them. But who are people really? Are they only who they are when they’re happy? Does the extent of one’s being only pertain to their happiness? What if a part of me is in despair, what if a part of me is in intense fear and anxiety — aren’t these parts of me also real and equally valid as happiness? Particularly if they’re perfectly natural reactions to intense suffering and pain. These parts of me scream for catharsis after having been invalidated for a long time and instead of allowing them, I've condemned myself as being ill for feeling them. This is why society is in part sick; repression is healthy and expression is deemed ill. We drug away “negative” emotions for fear we are somehow damaged for harbouring them.
From now on, I am no longer “ill” — what a difference such a perception makes in how you treat yourself. Whatever you do is acceptable, whatever you do is allowed and expression is an inevitability. My intense sadness is not a problem, my intense pain is not a problem, my intense fear is not a problem — do you know how freeing such an attitude towards self is?
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 8:37 AM UTC
The date was April 3, 2000.
A cool zephyr blew and
I forgot every morning blue,
Right when I saw the angel,
She was so beautiful,
As if a princess, or a fairy,
I was 9 at that time.
She had come down from the hills,
From the Himachali town of Solan,
And she had just come to our school.
I looked at her, and I was dumbstruck.
Her sideways glance,
It was so fascinating,
As if a fairy came down,
From the mountains, I mean,
I can never forget her,
Neither her name,
Nor her harmonious voice.
She became the class monitor,
And I intentionally made a noise,
To get her often talking to me,
Oh I remember everything clearly,
"Atul–Keep quiet!" she'd shout,
And I'd laugh silently, but laugh anyway,
And her nostrils would flare red.
In 2001, I drowned in the infatuation,
Deeper than the Mariana Trench,
Sitting on my school bench.
In 2002, her father expired,
And she was traumatised,
Seeing her sad, I was shocked too,
And she stopped talking to us,
But she always scored well,
Yes, she did score nicely,
And I was inspired.
In 2003, I changed schools,
But in 2005, I met her again,
She gave me her number,
I often used to call her,
Not once did she,
Because she didn't have my number,
Not that her caller ID didn't show it,
But our EPABX number always varied.
In 2007, I confessed to her on a call,
I told her, "I have always loved you,"
And she scolded me without waiting,
"Atul! I never expected this from you."
She continued, "Never call me again!"
I was crestfallen, disappointed, and sad.
I'd have sung my original song had she accepted.
That song I composed for her,
Had come out of my heart.
It was a lyric of my desperation.
And a tune of my romance.
It was a hope of my loneliness.
And a promise of my love.
But she rejected my proposal.
I never called her again, out of respect.
Anyway, I credit her for making me a poet.
I credit her for making me a singer & artist.
But I still love her so deeply, and
So truly that I look for her everywhere,
In every prospective match,
In every passing batch.
These days she's in Chandigarh.
Sep 24, 2024
Sep 24, 2024 at 8:33 AM UTC
how long to live through the next thought
to have a brief encounter with time
an impossible time of intolerable anguish
where embarking upon a sentence
is a violent wrench from perceived notions
of reality, one that causes nerves
to flay upon my body with weal's of words
where vatic poetry is wrought in trembling rages
spilling, dripping upon the traumatised
parchment that is my pages
in de-congealing interrelated drops of image
that crack the pavements
in a visual vibrancy of taut creative tension
where these words keep their own company
and speak in interrogative tongues
causing a fragmentation of earthquake fissures
to radiate across my mind in a cataclysm
of universal poison that quiets and dissolves stability
and asks, no demands of me, what can you see?
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
I'm hidden by barriers
That you cannot see
I'm trapped and alone
But you can see me
I'm muted by noise
That you cannot hear
My screams fall silent
I'm frozen in fear
The pressure builds
My mind is racing
You fail to see
The struggles I'm facing
The room is spinning
My heart's beating fast
Thoughts creeping in
How long will they last?
I sit here vacant
I'm traumatised
I failed to answer
You.... recognised
Pounding your desk
Screaming my name
Jumbled words
Repeating again
I don't know the answer
I want to reply, but..
I keep blanking out
I can't explain why
In front of the class
You call out my name
"I've told you twice..
I'm not explaining again!"
I'm hidden by the barriers
That you cannot see
I'm trapped and alone
Until quarter past three
By Darren Wall
Jan 29, 2024
Jan 29, 2024 at 2:31 PM UTC
So insensitively you drain and ***** me
taking blood samples and injecting the chills
enstilling no trust right before you ******
foreign objects into my gut
I didnt ask for you nor did you ask for me
and with a situation that should be full of understanding
we just cant seem to meet eye to eye
you are the arrogant judgemental kind
and me I'm just a piece of paper
full of ineligible lines
I hate doctors or most I should say
I come in always in the worst of situations
For them its everyday
and the longer they're with it
the less humane they seem
I dream of a world full of humility
while I crumble
traumatised in hospital sheets
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
of course i left the shit-holes traumatised,
if i didn't read extensively i'd be
stuck in some slum for immigrants -
i mean, who, in, their, right, frame, of, mind
would teach children the basis
of abortion, among lessons about sniffing
glue (a practice in the Ukraine)
as if the 1960s psychedelic revolution never
took place? only the catholic church,
which loves the ****** of a John Smith...
i might as well be listening to Billy Joel
rolling a ****** Jesus... **** off...
take your little school while i learn
from the stoic Marcus Aurelius... seriously
Ben Hur und Aesop to you too! go on grovel
on your message: gehen nord...
yeah, because the romans were evil to incorporate
Judea into its pond empire...
the north men clashed with the jews in the Holocaust;
head north jesus said... so they headed in fakes...
polnisch hebräisch: Jiddisch Yiddish Jesus Jehovah
the tetragrammaton, ********
like they built the ******* pyramids...
sheep, sheep, sheep; i do better drumming
for the rhythm guitars than anyone,
esp. Billy on the MTV single hit about Australian
bushfire and a long list of names with rock around
the clock of Bill Haley & His Comets and oh ****** days
on the McDonald boulevard.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
I'll paint you a picture.
Imagine tangarine skies
Filled with marshmallow clouds.
How do you feel right now?
I'll paint you a picture.
Imagine cobalt blue seas,
Endless and filled with life.
How do you feel right now?
I'll paint you a picture.
Imagine your own mind.
Peaceful or traumatised?
How do you feel right now?
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
a surface rippled
but not broken
traumatised
a body bruised
but not fractured
cracked
still together but barely
the light may get in
but what escapes
a traumatised mind
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 5:59 AM UTC
It is what's forbidden,
But it forbids me to disobey.
I have to watch myself fall down the rabit hole.
I have to see my ambitions right in front of me,
Before they're snatched away by a desperate beggar child.
At least they can finally get what they want,
While I'm being traumatised by what I want and could have
But now never will.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
Ooah, get your finger out, get your *** in gear, split skin, stinging flesh, unhealed for all to see, my
Grandad died of ******* cancer partly, tell me, what does she know, that do they know, grey world,
some more soon, no don't, I'm going, why didn't you say, will I be worth, am I needed anymore,
who are they, don't say there names Tigz what ever I ask, blood, fire, hold me, hair, warm, don't go,
shiver, visions, sequences, pantheism, hippie, music, teaching, busking, concerts, grade eight,
sociology, not in control, keep clean, happily ever after, I love you, lonely, scared, scarred,
traumatised, ill, why couldn't I help, holiday, gone, guilty, old, compasion fatigue, failing, tired,
delusional, Josh I won't see someone do it again, you're saying words I've heard before, neither's
good Callum, no I can't step back, what did I do, sin, past, present, future, what did you say, I don't
understand, is that all it took, setting sun, please please help me!!!!!
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
Ongoing
The pretty lady screams
**** ME NOW!!!
Putin’s bombs just murdered her baby
What life will the young mum have now?
In a shattered country war death hate killing
The ******* waited decades for this
And acted not caring the cost
Of Russia’s neighbouring nation
Plus thousands of dead Russian soldiers
Let the traumatised lady be an example
Of what it’s like to be in Putin’s war
Like the husband’s family also killed
By Putin’s mortar bombs while waiting
To flee their devastated homeland
Remember them all make him pay
For every single death and injury
And ruined town and city…
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 5:48 PM UTC
roses are red,
violets are blue,
I've got five fingers and the middle ones in you
oh so deep
then I realised it was in a sheep
I quickly ran
then I went into a ram
it was traumatised
it had to have counselling
it had to even start selling
Mar 11, 2020
Mar 11, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC
Here’s a space to dream.
Of sleepless nights staring at starlights,
Only dropping twinkles can enter this bubble,
Of you and I.
You and I
Will meet where crossroads are paused
When cars stop and red lights glow
Beyond the smog of the city. I
will never forget, how eye
to eye, we were traumatised
by the beauty of painful love.
Or maybe, maybe, it was just my
imagination, the way lies
seem like truths
so easily disguised.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
Small and tainted black,
Four reaching prongs that spiral,
Spin, draw you in,
Seen with ****** eyes; traumatised,
Violence of ignorance,
Slaughter.
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
I was raised
Surrounded by shouting
Fights and arguments
I was traumatised countless times
And i either can’t stop feeling
Or I desperately try to feel something
Never an inbetween
Just dragged from one side to the other
In the blink of an eye
Feeling everything to the extreme
Even my numbness
I can’t trust anyone
No matter how hard I try
I’ll always feel unloved
Because from a young age
I never knew what love was
I never experienced what everyone else did
I wouldn’t know a healthy family dynamic
If it slapped me in the face
The emotional abuse
All the pain I was made to feel
The nights staying awake
Sobbing
Too scared they’ll hear me and give me something to cry about
And now being an adult
Still under their roof
19 years later and still analysing the footsteps coming up the stairs
Scared to be a second late
Or to speak in the wrong tone
Because I knew what would happen
Eternally fearing I’ll upset someone
Pretending to sleep
Faking having work so I have an excuse to leave the house and escape the torment
I just want to leave
I want to be a proper adult and leave this hell
And find that peace I always dreamed of
Nov 6, 2023
Nov 6, 2023 at 9:08 PM UTC
In the space between walls
stagnant dust swells with manor house tales
of births and deaths, a ****** or two,
marriages, affairs and locked away shames.
We squint and we peer at moth eaten carpets
that hang from the wall, too delicate now
for tread underfoot, for stamping and squishing
and pounding out rows, unravelling structure,
whispers carry to the end of the hall
"have we made the right choice?"
"Please lower your voice,
I would find it too hard, but I can't know your pain"
The heart is merely a muscle afterall.
It was a hospital once, commandeered for the rest
of shell shocked tommies, basket case brigade
gone mad from the sight of vaporized mates,
claret sprays like champagne in traumatised hands
and they're there in the dust,
deformities rot in the space between walls
"and is this the right date?"
"yes" (I'm hoping we're late)
but an embryo is only a blob afterall.
A natural progression from soldiers to nutters
a bedlam, barbaric defective discharge
"if they wont agree then persuade them".
"Just do what is best".
Take the pill force the fluids
splayed over a bed,
and then throw out what's left,
the muck and the grief,
after scraping and clearing
the space between walls.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 1:46 AM UTC
Some guys just want you for ***
And I can see that
But I really think that would be doing you an injustice
I want to know the real you
And who knows, maybe a relationship
Take it to a higher level
Who knows, we could be forever young
What do you think.
That’s quite good Paul,I mean, compared to last week's effort anyway.
Was last week’s bad.
Let me see now, you’re pulled.
Did that lack substance.
It was sort of to the point.
And that was bad.
Well I did mention it to you the next morning.
Was that in between you’re a crap lover.
You said you could do it all night.
I did do it all night, slept like a baby.
I know, but that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
Did I or did I not show you a great time in the morning.
No, you said you had to get a run in.
I know, but after that, were you or were you not screaming.
Are you surprised, there was blood everywhere, thought somebody had attacked you. how was I to know you fell down a hill.
After that, did you not say it was out of this world.
I could have said anything, I was still traumatised.
I’m not surprised your husband doesn’t understand you. You staying at your sisters by the way.
No, she’s at mines.
Did you two read the marriage contract. I mean, I’m not religious or anything, but I think the Priest would be a little concerned about your infidelity.
Have you met father Tom.
Don’t think so.
You have, he was the guy giving you *** tips.
Was that him, he was brilliant, told me all the things that turned you on.
****** great, you get the advice, I get the Hail Marys.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
Nine months of living as one.
A small life, pure and innocent.
An unblemished soul, now gone forever.
Wisdom fails me, my emotions trip
Into overdrive, shattering resistance, my
Strength leaking away through telltale tears.
I want to lay blame, but deep within,
I know there is no blame, no reason,
Not even justice: only cold, cruel, death.
I observed my wife: mind traumatised,
As she dressed our small lifeless child,
Our first precious child: stillborn, still warm.
I watched her lips whispering private
Inner thoughts, murmuring her love
As her hands caressed so gently: so gently.
Nine months of living as one.
A family created, but for our new arrival,
There is no welcome: just sad, goodbyes.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:12 AM UTC
Walking around with my head held low,
Unable to escape this status quo,
Understanding that feelings I thought were gone,
Were only suppressed even after so long
Sands swallow my feet as the tide comes closer,
This never ending search an emotional roller coaster,
But I've not stopped looking, each night and day,
Ever since that moment when I flushed my poo away,
I walk along the beach, perhaps he's landed there,
It pains me so much, as he'll think I didn't care,
I sent him away like a discarded used ******
I take each step carefully incase my poo I do stamp on
I've even checked the sewage works,
They shout "away! You're not authorised",
If only they understood,
Just how much I've been traumatised
Thus this journey I must continue,
Until my poo I rediscover,
Whilst I suffer constant cramps,
As I refuse to make another.
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
I have wondered for so long,
What makes me feel this way,
So traumatised by everything,
And it's like this everyday.
I use to be afraid of my family and friends dieing,
I use to feel sick in the morning,
I use to cry when the sunset,
I thought my dieing day was dawning.
Now all the small things are so big,
I have spazums and muscle tension,
I worry about the one I love and if she stays the one,
I fear in my future life there will be no redemption.
The nausea and diarrhoea still cling on,
I sometimes lose sleep,
My heart pounds and my eyes widen,
I growl and sometime shiver and weep.
I think I found it after all these years,
The experts call it GAD,
Am I right?
Will I ever be free?
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC