If my wounds were visible,
If you could only see inside my heart-
And touch the core of my soul,
You wouldn’t ask me why I fly
From hot to cold,
At a mere word or suggestion,
And why I grow so indignant to your blind
When I say that I feel ‘invisible-‘
Because I WAS,
For so long,
So don’t tell me that I’m wrong
For sometimes feeling like I don’t even belong
To my own family,
And don’t say that my dreams, nightmares and visions
Are just a ‘fantasy.’
Until you’ve walked a mile in my skin,
And seen the horrors that I’ve witnessed,
But kept within,
You will never, ever truly begin
To understand my pain.
Even if you think you’ve kissed it,
You’ve just barely scratched the surface.
It’s not a competition,
Or a contest,
But I do not jest
When I say that most of my childhood was a horror-fest.
It’s not a pity-party,
Or an exaggeration.
Can’t you see?
It’s all a true statement.
The P.T.S.D. struggle is all-too real.
Why the hell would I lie about it?
So please don’t say that you know how I feel,
Until you’ve heard the whole story,
I promise that one day I will write it all out,
In all its gruesome glory,
If I live long enough to tell the full tale please don’t shout,
Or vow revenge.
The only one who gets to decide that fate is me,
Please don’t take away the one thing which keeps my serenity,
My ability to take back my power.
My abusers tried to devour
But they didn’t win,
And I live for that blessed day when I can begin
A new chapter of the book,
But for now, I must kill my bespoke
The fire which still rages within
No longer consumes me,
And sometimes I can clearly see
What that crook
Stole from me,
A life, taken,
Is now mine for the taking.