Blank

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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Wanting

Wanting

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
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

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