INTO THE LIGHT

My therapist has been assigning me art homework over the past few months as a different way to approach my healing from assorted traumas. This week I have to create a supportive greeting card to send to myself. The homework requires a letter or poem identifying the losses from said trauma and offering strength and support. I, obviously, opted to a write a poem. Let me know what you think. If it is supportive.

Cruel hands

Cruel heart

Laid waste your innocence

Your tender soul

The days are dark

The nights darker still

The light shall rise again

To dry your tears

Come take my hand

I’ll hold you through

The black storm raging

And come together

Into the light

POWER OF WORDS 

Power of words
Assault rape
Shared with gang raped
Gang raped trafficked
Too rough boundaries violated
Play abuse

Every word
Used to gentle the experience
Dashed on the rocks
Like the waves along the shore

No minimizing
No sugarcoating
No gentling of the
Power of words

INSOMNIA

I suffer from frequent bouts of insomnia.   I’ve learned to live and parent on like too no sleep.  And when the insomnia rears its ugly head my mild DID acts up more.  I don’t really have alters.  I’m not that severe.  But my subconscious or unconscious has divvied up parts of myself.  There’s the angry dude. There’s the young broken teenage girl. And there’s Squirrel. Who seems to me my optimistic toddler/child who represents the part of me around the time my cousin started molesting me and before.  I “woke up” to this scrawled in very juvenile handwriting. Signed SJr.  Enjoy.
 

The night
Thick with palpable fear
The air
Redolent with terror
I WILL NOT CANNOT sleep
For the dreams that come
Terrify
My very soul 

SJr.

OBLIVION

The sirens call
“Come”
With each crash
Of the waves upon the shore

“Home”
“Rest”
“Peace”
“Come”

The sirens call
Promising comfort
Freedom from
Distress
Freedom from
Pain
Freedom from
Heartache

Clearly I see
Tempted I feel

To sink beneath the waves
Into cold oblivion

MOTHER

Did you ever wonder
What I thought of you

You should have protected me
Instead
Complicit in your silence

Did you ever wonder
How deep the bruises went
The scars on my soul
That won’t heal

Did you ever wonder
At the lies I told
To cover the marks

The ones that faded
On my skin

Do you ever wonder
At the lengths I would go to
To ease the pain

Did you ever wonder
At the pain on my eyes
Still present
After all this time

Do you ever wonder
If I hate you

SHATTERED

Broken
Shattered on the bed
The last vestiges of my innocence
Torn asunder

Broken
Shattered on the bed
The last tears
I’ll ever shed

Broken
Shattered on the bed
Sense of self
Annihilated

Broken
Shattered on the bed
My will to fight
Crushed

Broken
Shattered on the bed
With kindness
In the aftermath

Broken
Shattered on the bed
An unfamiliar
Tenderness

Broken
Shattered on the bed
Dichotomy
Of words and actions

Broken
Shattered on the bed
Confusion
Leaves me whirling

Broken
Shattered on the bed
You hurt me
You heal me

Broken
Shattered on the bed
My broken body
My broken soul

Broken
Shattered on the bed
Discarded at the end
Like so much debris

FOR A LITTLE WHILE

The blood flows
Taking the pain
The heartache
With it
A temporary release
If only for a little while

Escape as the blood flows
The endorphin rush
Freedom at last
If only for a little while

Past and present
No longer matter
Only the here and now
As the blood flows
Bringing with it
Sweet release

If only for a little while

RELEASE

The blades they beckon
The blades they call
Crimson rivulets
Running down

Release
Relief from the pain
Of too many
Yesterdays

So many years ago
Still torment me
As fresh as though
Experienced today

The blades they beckon
The blades they call
Crimson rivulets
Running down

THAT HOLE

PTSD really sucks. Every time you think you’re out of the rabbit hole something slams you back in. Well, no more. Letting the memories of my traumatic past ruin my now, causing me ty o fear my future, stops here.

A scent on the breeze
A whisper on the wind
Leaves me reeling
Falling back into that hole

Fickle memory
There’s no one around
But I hear you feel you
Falling back into that hole

Memory wreaks havoc
On my mind
My heart my soul
But I stop this time from
Falling back into that hole

VULNERABILITY PART TWO

I was talking to my therapist this week about tears, and how I’ve only cried once in the past 12 years. Which led her to using dirty words like vulnerable and feelings. I made the mistake of saying that crying is weakness, which, of course, turned into a long, mostly one-sided discussion on how tears are human and to be human is to be vulnerable. As is often the case, I didn’t have a lot to say at the time. It takes a few days of ruminating and processing to be able to articulate my response. So I send her an email at 1:30 in the morning: When I cry over something, it’s a physical manifestation of something I am vulnerable to/about. When I open up and allow myself to be vulnerable, I am displaying my weakness. Once that happens, I am open to being hurt. So no more hurt means not being vulnerable.

And as is so often the case, the epiphany came through my poetry.

My eyes are dry
No you won’t ever see me weep
Break my bones
You’ll never see
My broken spirit

The broken soul
You toyed with
You’ll never see me cry
Never know the hurt
You laid upon my heart

Careless caresses
You never meant
Empty words
That belied the truth

Hard and jaded
No one touches me
In the secret places
of my heart