Mirakee
And Still I Remember
In the phases of my memory
I forget things that are dear
But something has changed
Somthing still lingers
Even gone from her
My heart aches
A feeling I lost long ago
A dull feeling
Of somthing missing
My heart won't forget her
Will not let me rest
When I'm gone from her
Something remembers
Somthing distant
But very insistent
Bringing tears to my eyes
Cries to my lips
Pangs to my chest
I remember her
I lost everything
Forgot everything
Able to give up anything
Yet she still lingers somewhere
Deep inside she made a spot
Parts of myself closed off
Slowly open
And still I remember her
Grasping desperately to this strand
This single feeling
Until I see her again
And everything restarts
Every day with her is like a new one
The longer she's with me
The stronger my memories
I feel so happy
I thing I truly lost
And she has returned
For this gift
I love her dearly
Forever I will holder her
Even if she no longer holds me
©mighty_are_the_fallen
#ptsd
901 posts-
-
Brain Rot
Theirs rot in my skull,
Rattling around.
When you die,
Your brain shrivels up,
A little wad inside your skull.
Somtimes I shake my head,
I feel that little wad,
Coming loose,
From behind sharp edges.
My brain feels dry,
Nothing can fix it.
So I get high,
And try to dismiss it.
One day,
I'll tilt my head to listen,
And out from my ears,
My little brain will fall.
Sad and shriveled,
Devoid of thought,
All sustenance gone.
©mighty_are_the_fallen -
phoenicks
1w
"LISTEN"
I understand you're not consciously a "bully" but if you cannot pick up on discomfort caused by your strong opinions, sense when you're cornering someone into submission due to your manipulative self righteousness - no matter how blindly you believe what you believe and no matter how many examples or ideals you can present to support your thought process - it doesn't prove why another person shouldn't be able to share an opposing dialogue.
Your beliefs can always be a trigger point for someone and furthermore when you dismiss them it becomes yet another traumatic experience for them where they couldn't speak up for themselves. Some people are simply not as loud and opinionated as others and more often than not there is trauma involved when a person just shuts down and starts nodding along when you did not give them a chance to really share their feelings - this is unintentional bullying.
I may be speaking only from the point of view of the 'oppressed' but that's the entire point. Do take a moment and "listen" when you feel that the other person doesn't truly agree with you. I'm not necessarily talking about debates or arguments about politics, sports, entertainment etc. But real conversation about real life experiences and feelings.
Defensiveness can have you live in a box forever and not realise that there is more to learn. Let's not shut down people by assuming they're accusing or dismissing you by simply sharing their thoughts - many times we all need to be corrected and appropriated because we are NOT perfect. No matter which religious/spiritual leader you follow - they ARE NOT perfect too. People aren't perfect that's why we need to humble ourselves and be open to uncertainty. That one second of uncertainty when you hear - "I disagree" , "I don't believe in this" , "I have a different opinion" , etc. It's OKAY. Just listen or if you really cannot then make it clear - say that you are not open to discussing this matter or you don't wish to hear the other person - this may have it's own consequence but at least it won't be a useless interaction where you only listen to respond and remain closed off or at a constant battle with everyone who doesn't think like you.
©phoenicks -
ayejannay
1w
Panacea Tricks;
Sleep Deprivation
I'll try the teas, the tinctures, the elixirs for dreams.
Anything to spell-cast my body to sleep.
And they work; mystifying my body to ease.
But my mind fights on this post-traumatic disease.
©ayejannay -
Nosebleed
Can you love me without touching me
or must I always push myself to be the way you want
Grow my hair long and let my piercings close
Close off the backroads overgrown treacherous and winding
Terrain unsafe and unexplored
Sticking to the pavement
The nicer parts of town
You’re a tourist here
I love a good nosebleed and a yellowing bruise
I would choose to use my body for experiencing the world
Climb higher hang upside down scrape myself against
Swimming pool cement and cliff faces
Places I want to take you to are of no interest
Which turns my own
into a receding tide
A sliver of waning moon
Have I ever stopped moving and changing
Rephrasing my wants to be more aligned
Straight like a spine that I’m realizing
I’ve never had
If I stopped moving for a moment
I anticipate that headache
the anti-gravity ride aftermath
I lift up weightless when I’m spinning fast
I forget that my feet are a part of my body
I forget that they have a purpose
When they have a purpose they only want to run
Away from - or to - doesn’t matter
I forget who I am when I’m not running
but if I stopped for long enough
I might be forced to untangle
external expectations from my own
I am Euthyphro trying to define concepts
by what is most pleasing to everyone else
As if I could live a life that is anything other
than lead by example and faith
Not able to read minds I’m just going off the gut feeling
That I am somehow wrong
And so I am ever trying
To fit a mold unseen8 1
-
rakeshkh
Dear writer,
We read your creations, they are very unique. We would like to invite you to participate in our new book. The book will be published with your name and copies of it will also be given to you.
for more information contact.
Thank you
Insta - hatchegg_publication
Mail : hatcheggpublication@gmail.com
-
rakeshkh
Dear writer,
-
THE KEY
At this hour,
At this moment,
At every seconds reading,
I enjoy the peace that comes from pains,
The world seems slow and it all connects now
The points I missed and lies I created to fill in the gaps are all vivid
Sobriety, soliloquy, a touch of narcotics, music and an overthinking mind equals a brighter day. -
in_fragments
2w
Read MoreAnother poem, inspired by the song Home by Neutral Milk Hotel. Basically the entirety of the album Ferris Wheel on Fire has been affecting my writing lately lol.
*
"They beat against the tender sightings of your soul
With all those pretty little hammers of control
And if they’ve ever paid a price well I don’t know
But I swear that they will pay one, now."
#pod #poem #home #family #life #love #abuse #neglect #trauma #ptsd @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbayHome- Another Scar
Home- another word left to decay,
another place I'll never stay.
I don't know what home is,
or if I ever even had one.
More than just the fighting,
the screaming, the crying and ignoring,
the breaking of glass tables
with my father's bare fists,
the holes in my walls covered up behind mirrors,
the threats and cold shoulders,
the corruption of personal space
being weaponized as a bartering tool.
Home is inconsistent
and completely conditional.
Home is not feeling you belong there,
not knowing whether to run away
or play along, to love or fear your keepers,
where they treat you like more of a burden
than a person.
Home is used as leverage over your head-
it is an impermanent space,
a childlike fantasy that doesn't exist.
My true home is the chaos
inside my own mind,
and my mind is still the safest
of all the dangerous places.
Home- just another word
you'll never believe in,
another shattered symbol
on your conscience,
an empty thing, devoid of safety
or meaning.
I walk through my childhood home
feeling old memories writhing
between the walls,
too intangible to touch,
too far away to reach.
Was this ever truly home?
How could it be, after everything
that happened, after everything
they were supposed to save me from?
The people outside can never see,
the wounds that never manifest physically-
the abuse that's hidden away
in bone marrow,
the neglect that courses through
the bloodstream,
leaving deeper gashes in my psyche
than the ones that will always mend
on my wrists.
Home- a concept to relearn, now merely another scar to heal.
©in_fragments -
in_fragments
2w
Read More
"Oh!- there she goes again,
my sucidal sister slipping in,
head launching calamity like a nuclear bomb,
quietus beckons me within her rings of flame-
she shows me with such burning excitement
all the ugly ways a body can die,
she injects me with ideations and fantasy,
watching my own life leave my eyes
and come back, blurry and dazed,
a thousand times a day.
She lingers here, she lives in me,
spills such unbearable fever into my mind.
She thinks its unfair, all we have to share;
her hands are my hands, her heart my heart;
we can never start again, we can never part,
we cannot exist without each other.
She sends me her thoughts of lovely, comforting death, and I know
that whether we each like it or not,
we are fated, cursed or blessed,
to die together-
until then, she pours out her daydreams
all aflame. Oh! my suicidal sister,
the one who operates in so much pain
and holds onto all the agony I've forgotten-
I cannot stop you, and do not want to-
sister, all your thoughts are welcome here,
without rash judgements, past layers of fear.
We are a part of each other,
and I accept you,
even if you are not ready
to accept this life we're forced to lead.
Oh Goldaline, my shadowy siamese,
my long-lost conjoined twin, begging please
for permission to leave;
Dearest Goldaline, don't you die on me.
Don't you kill us now. Not yet."
©in_fragments
~~~~
Talking myself down again... Loosely inspired by the song Oh Sister by Neutral Milk Hotel.
*
"Oh sister, don't be afraid of me
I won't be nailing you down in the nursery
Just like the rest of them did..."
#pod #poem #mirakee #mentalillness #ptsd #depression #art #therapy #suicide #life @mirakee @writersnetwork @writersbaySister Suicide
there she goes again,
my sucidal sister slipping in...
Dearest Goldaline, don't you die on me.
Don't you kill us now. Not yet.
©in_fragments -
adunbar
3w
For ST
The cold finger tips
of my past always push
they push and poke and prod
me in the small of the back
their touch is frozen
bound to soul to death to the memory
of bottles and mayhem and fear
and even after 10 years clean
I push at it like how your tongue
worries at a sore tooth...
I push too hard, trust too little
expect, fetishsize and seduce
midnight until I recognize my actions to punish myself until I decide
to just let the 5 year old me suffer, weep and rage and heal.
I reach for positivity, cling to and adore people who love, smile and inspire me.
Silje, you push back the darkness with your grin, silliness, laughter and power
You help, all the time, every day
So thank you, and that is why I write you. adunbar2021 (For ST)
©adunbar -
adunbar
3w
RIEL
When I think of Louis Riel
I don't think of the Duck Lake rebellion
his sham of a trial
or the Queen's rope used to lynch him.
I don't think of him finally being declared
a father of Confederation or founder of Manitoba.
I think of his statue, south-west of the legislature
Riel, standing alone facing south on the bank of the Assiniboine river.
I used to stop and talk to him, keep him company, ask questions without the expectation of answers
and I still look for answers through his life as it relates to mine and they elude me.
Go see him, spend some time with him and you will understand part of what it means to be Metis.
Riel looks pensive, sad and isolated
away from the eyes of the domes golden boy, out of sight of those who still laugh at him.
History corrected the record but its writers never forgave him and this too
is what it means to be Metis.
I sit with him in winter looking south and wonder was it worth it? Wondering what might have been, if they hadn't destroyed him.
Sitting with Riel and the memories falling like snowflakes around our shoulders breaks my heart, makes me furious and walking up the frozen river, stopping out of my love for him, I cry until the tears freeze on my cheeks and then I turn for home. .
©adunbar -
Depression
Esa nhi h ki pehle kbhi na hua tha....
Pr lockdown m kuch jyada der hi chl gya
Bchpn ki kuch yaden aine(mirror) si bn gyi thi...
©ambika_s -
hmadeline
3w
An open letter to an abuser excerpt
One day, you won't haunt me at night. And I can finally have something right in my life. One day you’ll be forgotten and I can love soundly and bright. And I’ll trust him and I won’t be the one alone at night
©hmadeline -
Faceless man
The faceless man in my dreams
He might be the demon, the demon
I refuse to face
He silences my screams
His hands around my neck
The smell of rotten flesh, the choking effect so intoxicating
It drowns me, just a moment before
I reach the surface.
The faceless man in my dreams
Something I'm scared of but welcome.
©monstatooth -
rodney
4w
Read More30th January, 2021.
12:47 p.m.
#Jesus #myLord #depression #anxiety #trauma #ptsd #mySaviourMy Lord is gracious supreme.
When my tears fill my eyes to blur my sight.
When my ears can't hear about your arms holding me tight.
When I lie down on my cot to another - insomniac - anxiety attack.
When I, when I, lie to myself that I'm unworthy of living.
When I, when I, cry soaking my blankets.
When my aching muscles resists to heal me.
When I want to say that I'm sorry,
But my words choke my throat to my unending sorrows.
When I think of death more than your mighty powers.
Help me to look into your scriptures.
Take my finger to guide it through the passages,
To make me realise that I'm also your most prized possession.
From all my traumatizing events to the day that beckons your blazing compassion.
I bow my head to your lessons.
I make pliant the knees of tainted grasp of your ultimate fruition.
I make pliant the knees of tainted grasp of your ultimate fruition.
As I look around to find,
You, my Lord, you were my only grace that never partitioned.
©rodney -
adunbar
4w
404
Flaw in the wet ware
half ones and broken zeros
leave neurons sparking like...
like hot metal screaming under
the capture of iron tongs and hammers.
Endless amperage cycles kill
everything it touches
then the loop feeds back upon itself
static in static out
until the brain becomes
a snake that eats itself.
Can't make heads or tails
of anything outside the loop
boil old boards down to soup stock
come and get it motherfucker
long-rat shadows served after
a head's pounded into a dinner bell.
©adunbar2021 -
adunbar
5w
Piano Guitars and a Pistol
I miss Mac Rebennack
The Night Tripper
The zuzu or the gris-gris man
From the heart of the Crescent
"Daily trippin up and down the bayou"
after a card game went bad,
some low rent sleazy gambler
shot off Mac's finger and Mac?
He just went from guitar to piano
like nothing ever happened
THAT was Dr. John,
there for whatever you needed man,
the music or the medicine.
Walk on gilded splinters
through streets smelling of mint and jasmine
heat and impropriety
all roads lead to the sun and moon and stars
while somewhere in the back
monsieur Toussaint is deep in the mix
and the doctor?
He just grinned through the smoke
and spun some Dougie Kershaw
the hardcore cajun fiddling God.
R.I.P. Doc.
©adunbar -
An open letter to an abuser
Dear Ass Hole, Liar, Thief, Abuser,
To The Dick that destroyed the woman I once was,
How do you feel about yourself? Are you proud? Happy? Do you feel any guilt whatsoever? What goes through your mind, as you lie awake at 2am, unable to sleep? Is it remorse for destroying a happy girl? Or is it about your next lay, or maybe your next high? Do you even give a damn about the damage you leave behind, or are you too caught up in your own pain and you’re blind?
I used to be so much more carefree, confident, Smiley. Yeah sure I still had some struggles. After all, I’m only human. I had a history of trauma but it was so far behind me. I had healed and learned to cope. I was okay to be alone, I was thriving. I didn’t feel broken. I wasn’t lost.
I didn’t know what it felt like to have mind games be played on me. I never had someone destroy my sense of reality. Up was up, and down was down. East and west made sense to me, north and south was where they were supposed to be. I had a sense of direction you see? But like a lot of other things you stole that from me.
Stealing, thief; two words out of a thousand I feel that fit you perfectly. Stealing the life force out of a young girl. A thief of happiness and dreams. Stolen peace, and sanity. No, you didn't just steal materialistic things. The most important items stolen were those of the mind. The material I need in order to survive.
Destruction of the mind. What a hell I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. The anxiety that was left behind, far worse than when you were mine. Destroying any hope I have of the love I find. Crying in a man's arms of the damage that you left behind.
If you think this letter was written because I miss you, you are sorely mistaken. This letter was written to tell you that I hate you. Hatred towards you for the hatred I have towards myself. Hatred of all of my aches and pains. Hatred of my confusion and loss of security. Hatred of the exhaustion that has overtaken me. I’m tired.
I’m tired of my lack of trust in the world around me, or the man I wish so desperately to stay and stand next to me. I don't trust the ones I love not to destroy my life in the very same sense that you tried to take mine.
The fear I felt that night, a type of fear that I never thought I’d fathom. The feeling of the oxygen leaving my lungs like deflating balloons staring at eyes as glazed as the moon is bright. The pain in my face seething so red and tight. Trapped in a single room house with nowhere to hide. You tortured me day and night
The battle I faced when you spent all that time committing the crimes yet I was the one justice seeked to find.
A year of fighting, and another year just trying to survive the aftermath. The vicious cycle of feeling like I’ve healed and the next revisiting the fight. A year of praying to God you don't kill me, and a year praying that I don't have another nightmare tonight.
You, The reason I feel scared at night, faced alone with new battles to fight. You, a memory so distant, yet so profound. The person I blamed when I lost my Sweet that night. Because the battles I have to fight are far more than anyone can right.
One day, you won't haunt me at night. And I can finally have something right in my life. One day you’ll be forgotten and I can love soundly and bright. And I’ll trust him and I won’t be the one alone at night.
With hatred and nothing kind,
The girl that's left to fight.
©hmadeline -
PTSD
The aches and pains of my past
Stay in my head and they last
Take away the drama and hurt
Because I try and try but never win.
Only falling deeper and deeper in sin.
Rescue Your child from the devil's grip.
©cardelljhardy -
adunbar
7w
Spieler in a Straw Boater
Second hand candy striped jacket
look close enough to see the bullet holes
torn through the fabric that left the last owner both ventilated and vacant.
The new spieler slipped right into it
and hasn't fixed it yet
he's got this higher calling
when he dons the white straw boater hat
raps a gavel on the rostrum
always begins his routine like that.
"Hey you! Yeah you, you young stud!
Whyn't you and your lady walk down these stairs
and worship at the Church of the Underground!!?
It won't cost ya a cent but we got bookies in the back if you wanna place a bet
on slippin through the eye of a needle
play the over/under on angels and pins!
There's no bible son, no cross, no Okie preacher fresh from a tent outside
Lawrence fucking Kansas!
This is the Church of the Underground all we want is your attention...hey,
can you worship in the minor chords?
The reason why I ask you that is,
see, we gotta a guitarista who only grants salvation in runs of E (eternal) Flat
Boy, you won't hear shuffle in C on our aural rosary
and the call and response is to whoever you let it be.
Church of the Underground, son, turning blood into Mogen David wine just a buck 99 and for the sacred price of that
you can watch the holy roller go-go dancers in sequined thongs till closing time where you've cum and gone!
GUARANTEED SALVATION SON!
with a heaping side of fun
mixed with the syncopated rhythm of the revelation, that's some power in your pocket and...
You're not gonna get a better deal that boy, so step up and step in, the only thing you got to lose is feeling shame bout your sins!
©adunbar -
adunbar
7w
Dry Drunk
Whenever I start thinking to myself:
"Hey, it'd be great to get back to drinking"
and brothers, sister, friends, poets, writers and lovers,
you have no idea how bad I want to go back to a life without fear of consequences
the freedom of total disengagement from sanity
the eager abrogation of morality
and the comfort of the predictability of
taverns, pubs, bars, and road house dives
i remember my blood in an alley
In Josephine County.
I look at my knuckles broken so many times they look like walnuts and they hurt
but lately, even that hasn't been enough
to hold the thirst back.
Worried, sick, scared to death
I listened to JT by Steve Earle and to Townes after that
those albums brought me back.
I know it is late and past due,
but Christ, Mr. Earle, I hurt for you
and I thank and love you.
©adunbar
