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#poetry about trauma
western-fence-lizard · 6 months
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rah rah healing from trauma etc (wip)
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waitingforthesunrise · 11 months
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What did the words do for you? 
Oh, I built a raft of words
Tied the similes into sails, and 
Bound myself to the anchor 
For if my ship goes down, so will I. 
Ah, the words. Earliest taste on my tongue – 
Tiny and small in a hospital room, curled up
To escape from the pain. Pain always had the strongest waves. 
And I 
Had only the alphabet. 
The letters – like curls of lace, like sanity and sorrow 
A promise that was always kept. 
First on stories, then on worlds. I was never sane
If by sane you mean uncaring, and cold. 
Unable to be touched by stars or people
(even those whom you have never met.) 
The raft of words returned
To sponge off the blood on my fingers
(to be fifteen is to know the taste of biting your tongue. And 
the sharp scrape of a heart.) 
The letters, they saved me – like bridges, like maps, like 
The soft promise of the morning light. 
(love crosses the lines, again and again; pain 
does not make you unlovable.) 
I wove my fate and fortunes into the wheel
Steering against the tides of 
Careful calculations and misintent. 
The words
They saved me. Cradled me. Kept me safe 
(not whole. nothing can do that. but alive, which is better
 for the beautiful things are always broken. do not cry, love: the light 
shines on our scars and makes them beautiful. how else is it done? ) 
Sword and shield and dagger…
What did the words do for you? 
Carried me to the shore, and guided me beyond. Put a sword in my hands 
Saying, go. for there is magic 
stronger than pain, stronger than the beating waves, stronger than 
strangers and the relentless fear of living 
The words brushed my heart and said, this
this is where the magic lives. and still it breathes
 on an ocean, a hospital bed, a mountain top,
 a life.
And oh – 
the journey is grand and mischievous. 
(for such is hope. and again, I breathe.)
@dailypoetryforyou
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aseelayelia99 · 4 months
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I am only a Woman
I begged you to love me and your answer was my cries.
And now that I’ve packed my bags you’re rambling about our highs.
As you throw shit around and yell that I am hostile.
But I don’t wanna start a war. I wanna get back my smile.
Don’t know if it’s a breakdown or a breakthrough, but something in me is broken,
And I can’t heal when around, you I am frozen.
Bleeding lips.
Stepping on my fingertips.
Waiting for my slips.
Your lies are pretty like the colors you splattered on my face.
Your eyes linger as you tell everyone you love me, just in case.
I have never seen someone hate the one they love this much.
I hate that no one sees me flinch at your touch.
Don’t beg on your knees and think that everything will be forgiven.
God loves unconditionally, but I am only a woman.
Inspired by a writing prompt posted by @betweenthetimeandsound
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honeyednotes · 7 months
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Untitled
you have no idea of the hells I have walked through to be standing here in front of you
I did not want to burden you with my scars, old and faded like a line on a dusty chalkboard, but they still cause me so much pain
when they flare up, coping mechanisms slip in unnoticed, until I realize that I have been three feet behind my body for days
I force back into myself, like fitting a glass slipper on an ugly stepsister, but it doesn't take long to remember why I left
anxieties accost me from all angles until I reopen the door and sneak back out, overwhelmed, and the cycle repeats itself
by Brie Thomson
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shewritestheyread · 10 months
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settled
I settle into my pain 
He settles into the couch 
comfortable numbness is my mercy 
and his liberator 
for why would I speak 
when not spoken to 
why would I fight 
when he knows I won’t win 
why would I run 
when he knows
he will catch me 
escape is a dream 
he won’t let me sleep 
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carehouse18 · 1 year
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twinkle around my wrists
i want to eat the stars
consume their cores and melt their fires into beads.
i want to gather the beads and weave them together with cord
and carry them around my wrists.
i want to fidget with the stars, feel them warm
my cold heart as i stumble
and feel the weight of them to ground me
to a planet they outshone.
i want to be burned so kindly by
something i choose, instead of being scarred
by blindsides and fists on counters
because i am so over it.
i want to be selfish just this once
and feel them twinkle around my wrists,
so that one day, before a slice becomes a scar,
i’ll be able to unleash the stars.
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desiarthoe · 1 year
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I want to be loved like a dead girl
Like the hollow of breath left behind in her smile
Like the space between her lover's fingertips
Where her lips parted in a smile
Maybe on a hot summers day
Leaving traces of her memory and sweat behind
I want to be loved like a dead girl
Endless and dark, like the guilt she left behind
Like the stretching of hands to tell her you're sorry
To tell her you didn't mean it
To tell her you didn't think your hands would feel like claws to her
To tell her you didn't know what she really was asking for
To tell her you're sorry you're sorry you're sorry
I want to be loved like a dead girl
Like the loneliness of a sad sad song
The open windows in a colourful room
The tenant long gone
The traces of her fragrance in the air,
Contrasted by the grim disposition
Of her leave
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poems-of-nothing · 2 years
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Seeds of Dandelion
I, like seeds
of dandelion,
float on.
A sea of green—
of beauty—
of possibility—
in front of me.
I’ll keep drifting
with the wind
until I find
a place I can
call home.
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اے گردشِ ایام ہمیں رنج بہت ہے ۔
کچھ خواب تھے ایسے جو بکھرنے کے نہیں تھے ۔
Ayee gardish-e-ayaam hamein ranz bahot hai
Kuchh khaab the aise Jo bikharne ke nahi the .
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Living on
After all is drained
Winter dried the soul away
- what a beautiful still flower
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conjuringthepuppy · 1 year
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I don't think I ever knew you.
Too many lies.
Too many faces.
Too many lives.
Too many facades.
Too many masquerades, with masks not only covering your face... but your soul.
Your twisted idea of love? Cracked me to my chore.
My body washed ashore,
Lungs filled with water.
I'd pick myself back up and would ask myself “why even bother?”.
Every time I'd pick up all the broken pieces inside of me and too many times I'd give myself back to you, for you to demolish all my dreams… all my hope.
I feel myself choke,
Your fingers wrapped around my throat.
Too many times you'd say you'd stop.
But then you just won’t.
you would promise me enough is enough.
But you never stopped.
Too many lies.
Too many faces.
Too many lives.
Nothing will ever be alright.
Too many times.
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ohwaitwhatdamn · 1 year
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wild-hares · 1 year
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ouroboros - ollie warren
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honeyednotes · 9 months
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Frostbite
I hear my family's accounts of how single incidents have caused them long-term suffering: the sting of frostbite haunts my mother's fingers after last winter, the sun's poison still lurks in my grandmother's veins threatening to consume her
we are each bound by so much trauma, wrapped so tightly we insist we cannot feel the fractures
but they recur much more frequently than we believe
and they run so much deeper than we know, icebergs we are bound to run into at some point or another
healing takes such careful delicacy, it is impossible if you do not realize you are hurt to begin with
each of us is intrinsically covered with wounds of various depths, and it is our duty now to dress them
rid them of maggots and rot
clean away neglected gangrene and finally
heal
by Brie Thomson
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shewritestheyread · 10 months
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Trauma
Rage knows the edges of my pain
like the ocean knows the edges of the shore
a wave crashes
I'm drowning again
time stills like water
after a storm
as the tide pulls me in
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trashracoon · 2 years
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i. dear reader, sometimes you will be stuck in this dark, purgatory like place in your life. its gonna happen a lot, and its gonna happen more than that because of the blood that runs in you.
ii. poetry, poetry just flows from me now. thats what sadness does to you, it makes you pretty, it makes you flawed, it makes you desperate to survive. maybe i deserved better, maybe i didnt. we’ll never know, because i got it anyway. this is what i have now. my weight and my hands. dont know how to live with either.
iii. remember being a child? and thinking, im going to make myself proud one day. poetry has been building inside you since that day. you carried it in every assignment you made, every test you submitted. and the adults around you thought you were the prettiest thing. sadness makes people pretty, thats why my parents make sure im perpetually sad. its nice to look at. nice to be around. because its evidence of life. i was alive and in making sure i was, they were alive as well.
iv. babies, they cry when they are born dont they? the miracle of life is carried in our tears then. every time we cry, we’re reminding ourselves what it felt to be alive on that very first day. the skies cry too, i dont know why this is important. but it is.
v. it always rains for the first time on the day i was born. divine intervention. every drop on my pretty face says, dont cry today my love. let me do it for you. let me bear the burden of your existence this one day. and i let it. then i go back home and im pretty again, poetry flows from the cracks in my existence.
vii. i dont think people are meant to live like that. letting pieces of their soul slip with every step they take. but they do. we all do.
—written as a journal entry (which quickly turned into a letter for my father) post-breakdown, after a year of staying mostly sane.
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I know this poem might seem to be saying that sadness makes you beautiful but please try to understand that what I'm really trying to say is my sadness makes me alive. When I say pretty, I don't mean my physical appearance, I mean the prettiness that comes out of the realisation of your humane flaws and short comings.
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