This piece was actually inspired by a conversation I had with someone.  This person had dealt with more childhood trauma than anyone should ever have to, and it was so bad that their brain blocked a majority of the memories from that time.  They also had a difficult time remembering things that were happening in their every day life.  Writing this was my way of trying to further connect to and understand what that must be like.


What is laughter,
What is joy?
If I had it before
I don't recall it anymore.

What is sorrow,
What is pain?
If I went through it before
I can't remember anymore.

It doesn't matter if it was good or bad
My brain won't let me reflect on the moments I had.
Oh, what a relief you might think it to be,
But for me, I believe this is what you call agony.

Were there smiles,
Were there tears?
Your face is one
I can no longer hold on.

Were there shouts,
Or peaceful talks?
Your voice is one
I no longer hear anymore.

It doesn't matter if it was happy or sad
My mind won't recall any of the moments we had.
Oh, what a relief they may think it to be,
But for me, I believe this is what you call misery.

My memory is one I can't unfold
All I know about me are the stories I was told.
Oh, what I would give to remember life clearly,
I don't know, but for many I'm sure it'd be plenty.

©S.T. Apr. 19, 17



I want to be seen,
Like the Sun and Moon sees Earth.
To be viewed from all angles,
Exposing the good and bad in me equally,

Hiding nothing.

I want to be felt,
Like the sand feels the ocean when rushed upon.
To have every part of me swept up
And caressed as a complete whole.

Carried away, heart and soul.

I want to be tasted,
Consumed like prey for lions.
To have everything I am stick to your tongue,
So there can absolutely be no doubt

I cannot be lived without.

I want to be heard,
Like screeching winds kicking up tornadoes,
Thunder promising only despair.
To have my screams be heard by all ears,
So it can finally be clear

I am actually here.

©S.T. Aug. 7, 14

Untitled- Aug. 2016

I may go back and give this poem an official name later, but until then…

Untitled – Aug. 2016

Laying in this dark room corner,
I’m aware of my mental disorder
Of always feeling completely

It is a trick, I know of this,
Yet inside my brain there is a tick
Gnawing away at

So down I spiral deeper in
This depressing hole inside my soul
While I pretend I am not

Do they see? Those around me,
Can they focus their vision rightly,
In time to save me from this

Laying in this dark room corner,
I am eaten by mental disorder.
Parasites, they nibble on my

It is a trick, I know of this,
But still I fail to silence the tick
Gnawing away at

So here I go, still on the fall
While I pretend that life’s a ball.
Maybe I’ll be ok
After all.

©S.T. Aug. 14, 16

The Heap

I chose this poem for my first post under Lost In Words because I still feel the emotion that went into it. I remember writing it, and the struggle I felt with trying to get out all these things that were buried in me.

The Heap

The rocks in my stomach 
Threaten to come up somehow,
And I know I can't stop the pain.

The pressure builds in my core,
The weight of it crushing my pit,
And I don't know if I can handle all of it.

The rocks, I feel, tare up my throat
The jagged edges making me choke,
And I know I will never speak again.

There's blood rushing out of the tares,
The liquid blocking my air.
I know I won't survive...

This devastation -
This absolute loss of salvation.
I can only see the darkness,
For I am completely blinded by this.

The rocks fall out of my mouth and onto the floor,
There seems to be nothing but more
And I crumble in the pile of my mess.

There is nothing left of me.
Turned inside out by what was buried in me, 
I'm now just a part of the heap.

©S.T. Jun. 26, 13