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imakeartwheniwanttodie · 2 years

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thepastisapebbleinmyshoe · 3 months

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I loved him, In tangled sheets, and half asleep.

he loved, the stranger beside him, a beautiful disaster, he thought he could keep.

with a soul too wild, to be chained to him. she dreamed, of paradise.

He craved control, and the thought of forever, touching his own lies.

We're Not Lovers

#ptsd poetry #poetry on love #poets cafe #writerscreed #original poetry #poets on love #grief poetry #poetry and art

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atimodeus · 22 days

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As a kid, I talked to people who weren’t there and told my Mama I saw angels by the lilac tree. I didn’t, but Mama liked when I talked about angels. I liked having proof that she liked me. And maybe – though I would never have admitted it – the mental image of a guardian assigned to bless and keep me made the loneliness sting a little less. And I was lonely. Desperately, feverishly, inhumanly lonely. I guess that’s why I took to imaginary friends. Real people didn’t like me much, but Ruth – the white-haired waitress in the pale blue dress, the one I conjured up as a toddler and talked to until I was as old as twelve or thirteen – knew every corner of my brain like the back of her nonexistent hand. From the outside, I guess it must’ve looked like a little kid talking to the wall or the gravel dirt road at the end of the driveway. Full of wishes for a world that didn’t want them. Perhaps for a world that didn’t want me. I didn’t care. I just wanted someone to share it with. I used to imagine Ruth explaining my idiosyncrasies to people I admired. I dreamed of a scenario in which someone could both comprehend and articulate the parts of me everyone else deemed unsettling and strange, or even admire that which made me Other. “Look at how this broken thing bends to find the light,” she’d say. “Look at how he prunes his own leaves.”

— Aberrations

(by me)

#writeblr #poems on tumblr #ptsd #complex ptsd #abuse recovery #abuse survivor #ptsd poetry #i don't feel like a survivor #i feel like an open wound #i don't know how to rely on people without feeling horribly guilty #like please don't leave me but also please don't get too close #don't make sacrifices for me i don't deserve them #i can't accept kindness i can't pay back

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faggotbetweenrevolutions · 7 months

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Safety Glass Memories

#itellyouthistobreakyourheart #poetry #transsexual #anarchist #butch dyke #grief #trans poetry #dyke #collage #grief poem #ptsd #cptsd #ptsd poetry #transfemme

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deer333teeth · 2 months

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He asks me what love is.

I tell him it is something soft, and warm, and bright. I think of the stars that burst behind my eyelids when I take a hit, or drag a blade between gnarled skin, or when he runs his fingertips across my back.

I ask him what love is.

He says he doesn’t know.

I wonder how it can be that he is the one with no answer, yet he is the only one who says it.

I ask him if it’s sex.

He says no. Far from it.

I agree.

He says sex is…just a way to be close to someone. To touch them.

I stay silent.

He does not ask me what sex is.

I think, sex is just power. It is anger. It is a tool to beat those things into someone. Into me. It is a reliving of the same death again and again and again. To me sex has never been anything but a reminder. A reminder of what I’ve always been and always will be. It doesn’t feel good. It shoves me backwards into muffled memories and open wounds. It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel fair. But it does feel right. It feels like I am doing what I’m supposed to do. Sex returns me to the truth. I deceive everyone around me. I have built a person around this thing. I have hidden this reproachful creature and lied to bury it. Sex unearths it. It forces me to be seen as I am. It reminds me how to turn off. How to float away. How to go limp and how to cede. How to die.

I think he knows.

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nervous-like-a-wild-dog · 5 months

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11-30 12:09pm

I lay with my rotted regrets

Bent nails and broken hearts

Shift through simple solicitors

And foster my hatred for lovers

Many in number and few in importance

I await a purpose

Please touch and then push me away

So I can learn what it truly means to be a tool

Left to rust in an abandoned shed

With little use besides an easy job done

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ow-writing · 3 months

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Today I found your letter.

I opened the white envelope

With my name scrawled on the front

Anticipating a forgotten love letter

Instead I found an apologetic confession

Typed and printed

Signed with your name

A laugh of disbelief escaped my lips

As I read with fresh eyes

The words that remind me

That you were just a child

I imagine your mother instructing you

To sit at the keyboard until there is more

Than an “I’m sorry” on the page

- O. Wells

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imaginarylungfish · 3 months

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#poetry #ptsd recovery #ptsd poetry #poem #poet #poems of tumblr #poets of tumblr #prose poetry #prose poem #ptsd #actually ptsd

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alizjay · 4 months

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TW: mention of CSA & SH

People say that I'm resilient and they say that I am strong.

No one else with my trauma would have a marriage last this long.

How am I not an alcoholic? How are my kids doing well?

Well, I'll tell you people, it has nothing to do with strength, but a conditioned fear of hell.

How did I do so well in school and be successful in my career? How can I keep my bills paid on time? It's because of that voice in my ear...

That bullies me into submission when I make a small mistake.

It's nothing but sheer terror in people finding out I'm a fake.

I never got to fall apart like most traumatized kids do

Until I began to remember at age 35 what my daddy made me do!

I never felt safe as a child

or a brand new wife and mom whose insides were going wild.

Because my body & my brain stem knew what my memory did not.

That very early in my life, I was damaged and emotionally thrown out to rot...

By the same person who said I could not make mistakes,

By the man who helped me with math and taught me to balance on roller skates.

How can the man who worked 2, and sometimes 3, jobs to keep food on our table

Be a monster in the bathroom with his little girl before I was even able...

To fight back, to argue back, to understand what was happening?

I guess that's why I have this habit of spacing out and disassociating

From the people i love when they're stressing me out,

Why even as an adult I revert back to a kid and pout

When I don't get my way

When I'm left out for the day.

That bastard BROKE MY BRAIN and then convinced me that I was okay.

"Little girl, you're lucky that your mom & dad still kiss. I work hard just to provide for you. You're just mad that we're not rich.

Be grateful for all God's given us, girl. Your parents could be addicts.

We could be homeless. We give you everything you need 'cause we're such good parents.

So turn that frown upside down or I'll clean your mouth with soap

For talking sass back to your mom. Why complain when Jesus is our hope?"

No dad, not anymore, not ever, all your words do is make me feel panic.

You make me want to cut myself or pretend to be perfectly happy and manic.

But as much as you gave me a listening ear when I'd cry about bullies at school,

You didn't give a rat's ass about my feelings at all, you just said, "sweetheart, life isn't about being cool."

I FUCKING HATE YOU, DAD!!!!!!!!!

#ptsd #childhood ptsd #trauma #abuse survivor #ptsd poetry #emotional abuse #poetry #child abuse #mental health #writers and poets

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william-stana4th-donahue · 4 months

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reframing God

#poet #queer poet #traumacore #ptsd art #ptsd poetry #did system #dissociative identity disorder #cptsd

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imakeartwheniwanttodie · 1 year

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thepastisapebbleinmyshoe · 3 months

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I am dressed, in imperfections and flaws. Naked, I am in love with every scar, that represents my strength.

Bathed in vulnerability, I sensed a gentle shift, inviting me in from the rain. A familiar presence, lays beside me as I sleep.

I let go of the touch, that stained my skin, and tore apart my mind. Rising from, the depths of, her impure attachment.

He wears the chains, that shackle him to her. It’s an exhausting tug of war, so violating and sacrilegious, he is her own mirror image.

In my journey to self-love, I let go of him and, the woman I never was. Dressed in my insecurities, she tried desperately, to attach herself to me.

Through the prodigal son, she praises in public spaces, while privately scolding, all who refuse to submit, to her transactional love of, vitriol and self-hatred.

Feverishly, they work, to align an image, that neither glistens, nor shines.

I stood there all alone, as they took turns, shaming me into silence. Ours was a marriage, of two souls intertwined.

With all that I had left, a few boxes of personal belongings, and the clothes on my back. I stepped aside, and left him, with the woman he craved, who wasn’t his wife.

Mother Knows Best

#ptsd poetry #narcissistic abuse #mother in law #marriage #divorce #writerscreed #original writing #pisces woman #pregnancy #perioddramasonly #a mothers love #oct 2016 - june 2017 #poetry on love #conceptual art

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abbywants2write · 7 months

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My lips move wordlessly

Or seemingly it is so

Maybe I am screaming

But deaf ears don’t know

My heart beats righteously

A rhythm so full of love

For all the things in life

I am unworthy of

A sense of urgency

Hesitation to think

Missing feeling alive

Flooding the kitchen sink

Tears fall like acid rain

Drowning the ants below

But I do hope you’re okay

You always hated being alone

#original poem #poetry #short poem #writing #creative writing #short poetry #original poetry #my poem #sad poem #sad poetry #ptsd #ptsd poetry

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zombybonezz · 10 months

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I hate sex.

I never wanna have sex again.

I hate bodies, the feeling of skin, flesh, meat.

I don't want to be touched.

I don't need to be touched, I don't need to be loved.

I need to scream, I need to punch you, I need to tear my hair out.

I need to throw up, I need to cry, I need to hate you.

I need to be free, I need to run, I need to dream.

But I'm not allowed to punch you, I'm not allowed to scream, I'm not allowed to hate you, I'm not allowed to run.

I'm not allowed to be free.

I think I need to hate you right now, I think I need to scream right now.

I think I need to climb up on our mountain, I think I need to punch myself in the face, I think I need to throw myself around while I'm screaming.

I think I need to rage.

I need to tear my hair out and rip off my nails. I need to kick out my teeth and stab myself in the heart. I need to swallow plastic and choke myself to death. I need to dance and sing. I need to cut off the parts of me that don't belong here. And I need you to understand. I need you to be mine.

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nervous-like-a-wild-dog · 5 months

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12-2 2:37

“Boys don’t cry”

Except for the nights my body is too much for my head

And my mechanisms slide off like oil on a ducks back

A promise made by a better me

To try

Try to be better

Try to do better

To try

And when failure meets me with a golden glass

I accept it graciously

Thankful for some resolve from the nightmare that is my mind

Twisting thought

And alkaline hopes

Simmer down to soggy clothes

Cleansed with my remains

An emblem of my suffering

Left to reside in a museum

For all to see and cherish

A post-it note for those in waiting

A prayer to the seemingly innocent god above

Please don’t end up like me

For I know that I am the worst case scenario

A fruit left out to spoil

Rotting in the brief glow of the sun

A momentary blessing

Leading to eventual disturbance

And singlehanded destruction

Honey you are nothing to me

But ash and soot and love letters

Sent by lovers that I cant for the sake of me remember

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anqaspond · 2 months

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i had a dream i said goodbye

I had a dream that we were living it up like we promised we would. that you came to me, again, and i let you, again. I had a dream we sped on roads we shouldn't have, and we flipped over, and I was there when both our mangled bodies contorted against tar and steel and caught their last breaths. i had a dream that our closure was written in blood and not half-eyes-closed unlocked doors.

i had a dream i was happy. had a dream i knew what was coming. that i lived in a dream house, at a dream party, and i was loved. i had a dream i didnt waste what i had. i had a dream i knew what would happen to me. sleep problems and prayers. it isnt your fault.

i had a dream we spoke again. i had a dream you told me you wanted to kiss me, and didnt imply it through layers after layers of irony. had a dream you didnt watch me be brutalized for wanting you. had a dream you didnt turn into somebody else. happy valentines day.

i had a dream it happened again, the same way, over and over. that you killed me no differently from the last. that i devastated you again, i didnt want to- dont want to, on repeat in my mind, like i had a choice. i had a dream and it woke me up in a cold sweat paralyzed and crying.

i had a dream that explained itself to me. one that rejected the layers of myself, that forced me out and made me watch it happen. i had a dream where i wasnt having a dream, could only see at the bottom of a perscription bottle and i want it again and again and again

i had a dream i said goodbye in a way that mattered. i had a dream itd be okay like it cant be now. i had so many dreams i might as well be living in one. i want to touch your hand, teach me how to stop having dreams and start living out of them.

#midnight slam ? poetry ? dk i literally woke up from a dream to write this #i needed to get it out #me when dreams have been my only way of coping with trauma since 2015 #me when dreams force me to confront it #my poetry #poetry #original poetry #my poem #queer poetry #seriousposting #ptsd #cptsd #ptsd poetry

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