Illness · Uncategorized

Just some trauma poetry

Olivia

Founder of Millennial Girl, Interrupted, a senior in a small Connecticut high school. I've been through many treatments and recoveries and am eager to share the lessons I've learned!

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First of all, I have a massive, worn old journal full of my poetry that is just for me. However, yesterday I came across a little yellow notebook tucked into the back of my closet. It’s not very good, but it’s from a very important period in my life. After I emerged from my abusive relationship, I didn’t tell anyone what happened for months. However, when I became active in the dating world again, it all spilled out. These are from that tumultuous, terrible time in my life.

How do you do?

My name is human

I’m sheathed from you

Fogged up, dirty too

Victoria, Hermes scarf

Silk, that’s her sheath

I wove it back here

Draped her, a wreath

Quick, he’s coming

Hands up, voice weary

Tone soft, eyes teary

Sounds as if he’s running

Panting, pushing

Frantic and decrepit

She’s dressed, body clean,

I take what’s left of it.

—–

I just have a suspicion that

My fingertips are too blue

Waiting for the ignition

To ever be thawed

By this fireside

Further even

That they wouldn’t know how

To clasp another’s

Let alone soothe themselves

If they ever did thaw

How long has it been?

—–

The definition of insanity, or whatever it’s called

Does it go awry, that hoarded, touted thing,

When it’s yourself you have walled?

A rallying cry, a bedtime story

Not meant for clawing,

Scraping at interiors

Splash your face, double your eyes

This quote is designed for a body

Not doctor-recommended for mirrors

—–

He isn’t wrong about insanity

His words have been folded

The same dance could reel a mate

The forty fourth time

This we choose not to know

He knows

That my insanity is

Exclusively reading presidential biographies

Weeping into Lincoln’s First Inaugural

———

Sourdough bread

Promises a cozy comfort

—-> back of the freezer

(I know how I like my sandwiches)

How long has it laid?

Nearly thaws, fooled me

Teeth sink, still concealed

I don’t remember it this way

Burned

Oh well, pita in the cupboard

———

It’s quiet

All’s still

But for my toes

Dog whimpers, bed shakes

Clouds roar, feet ache

Brain reels, only fro

Thump, thump

It’s quiet

But for my toes

Painfully mindless

Madly tireless

Tonight, agony grows

Boom, boom

All’s still

But for my toes

Vessels of anguish

Mindlessly painless

But for the fear it odes

All’s still

Sprung alive

But for my toes

Penetration creeping

Girl screaming

This is just how it goes

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