I haven’t blogged about the experiences that led to my developing PTSD and, very likely, my bipolar. I find putting words to the experience nigh impossible. It seems easier to use poetry to express my pain, my experiences. This was not an easy write, and will be an even harder read.
What a dirty word
Vulnerable is
Vulnerable
A six year old
Vulnerable to physical abuse
Masquerading as love
Vulnerable
A broken six year old
Vulnerable to sexyal assault
Thinking its love
Vulnerable
A shattered six year old
Learning how to build walls
Vulnerable
Ten years old
Shutting down
Rejection just too hard
Vulnerable
Innocence smashed
Sense of self immolated
Vulnerability disappears
Becomes
Responsibility
Responsibility for
Failure
Inadequacy
Responsibility
Becomes internalized
Absorbed
Owned
How could thise walls
Ever hold
So young, too young
Vulnerable
A fifteen year old
Aching for something intangible
Vulnerable
To repeat the past
Two years a play toy
Shut down
Turn it all off
Live a facade
Smile
Behind the
Pain
Descent Rising 