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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.

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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
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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
Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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