The trauma hit me
with precision,
Mocking my every
last decision
The choices that I make
All seeming to be mistakes
It makes my heart ache
It makes my soul suffer
To see such sadness
Written on my face
every single day.
Trauma lives
it creeps, it gives me
Nothing but pain,
Nothing but suffering
With every last bit
of courage I'm mustering
But the dart hits the target
It's a bullseye they say
The way trauma makes us
Who we are today
How the words of the past
They stay in my mind
Forever sealed in the tombs of time
The trauma here is all mine
You gave me so much of it
And I'm sick of dealing with all this shit
But it's not that easy to let go,
Knowing what you know
Knowing that without you
The trauma still grows
inside me like a cancer
That I cannot shake
A sickness in me,
Every step that I take
I remember that day,
I remember that day.
About the Creator
Slgtlyscatt3red
Slightly scattered. Just a woman with autism and ADHD that loves to write poetry, create art, and sing.
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Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly5 days ago in Fiction
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