trauma

Invisible Inferno

Folder: 
Poems

 

 

In the cacophony of existence, a voice strains—

Forty-plus years of searching,

A lifetime of pains.

Words crumble to ash, unheard and unseen,

Lost in society's vast, indifferent machine.

 

Neurodivergent synapses spark and sputter,

A mind wired differently, thoughts all a-flutter.

Autism's maze, ADHD's relentless tide,

Trauma's shadows where nightmares reside.

 

Rejection's barbs, familiar as my own skin,

Each "no" a thorn, each silence a coffin.

Dysphoria whispers, "You don't belong here,"

In a world that sings harsh and unclear.

 

Nonbinary, queer, asexual—labels that confound,

A self yet unanchored, unsafe, unbound.

Isolation creeps, a suffocating shroud,

Drowning amid the indifferent crowd.

 

Empathy burns, a fire beneath the skin,

A curse, a gift, searing from within.

But who hears the helper's muffled plea?

Who sees the saviour drowning at sea?

 

Knowledge hard-earned through years of strife,

Wisdom gleaned from a fractured life.

Yet warnings fall on ears deafened by fear,

As others march blindly towards perils near.

 

The tribe remains elusive, a shimmering mirage,

Fading with each misunderstanding, each barrage

Of blank stares, of glances that never linger,

Of people who look, but fail to see the singer.

 

Helplessness learned, a bitter draught to swallow,

As hope's embers fade, leaving the heart hollow.

The voice grows hoarse, the weary spirit mired,

Unwanted, unseen, and uninspired.

 

In this abyss of unbelonging, deep and wide,

Echoes the cry of a soul with nowhere to hide.

For connection, for understanding, for home,

In a world where different means forever alone.

 

Senses overload: lights blind, sounds pierce,

The world a tempest, wild and fierce.

Touch that scorches, smells that choke and smother,

Each day a battle, one after another.

 

Yet still it burns, this invisible flame,

Flickering, sputtering, but never quite tame.

In the endless night, it stubbornly glows,

A beacon of self that nobody knows.

 

How long can it endure, this hidden pyre?

Will it fade from view or burn ever higher?

In the silence between heartbeats, it persists,

A testament to a life that still exists.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

 Essentially, just bleeding directly on to the page here.


It isn’t meant to sound profound, it is the raw emotional landscape characterised by life-long feelings of isolation, struggle, and the quest for belonging amidst a world that often overlooks or willfully misunderstands those who are different.



Desperate defiance in the dark

Desperate defiance in the dark

 

 

Voice vanishing, vaporised by virtual vitriol

Algorithms amplify absence, abandonment

Words once winged now wither, wane

Trauma's tendrils tighten, twist, torment

 

 

Silence. Deafening. Oppressive. Inescapable.

 

 

Childhood's cruel cacophony echoes, endures

Rape's raw rage resurfaces, relentless 

Abuse's ache amplifies, accumulates

Gaslighting's glare grows, guts grace

 

 

A chill wind of indifference swept through the room, leaving me shivering and unseen.

 

 

Neurodivergent narratives, now nullified 

Vestibular vertigo, vision vacillating

Fibrous fire flares, flays fragile flesh

Depression's darkness deepens, devastating

 

 

The empty chair across from me seemed to mock my solitude, 

 

its vacant seat a cruel reminder of my isolation.

 

 

Social streams shrink, shrivelling slowly

Platforms purge purpose, passion, power

Identity invalidated, invisibility impending

Self-worth withers like wilting flower

 

In silence, I found solitude; in solitude, I embraced silence

 

Yet still, soft syllables simmer, survive

Waiting, whispering: "We will rise."

For even silenced, stifled, suppressed

The soul's song softly, surely sighs

 

 

Through the hollow halls, past the empty rooms, 

 

beyond the echoing silence, 

 

a single, defiant voice dared to speak

 

 

In the depths of this suffocating silence, 

A flicker persists, refuses to die. 

Though the world may try to extinguish our light, 

We will rise, reclaim our stolen sky.

 

 

.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is perhaps, one of those "My struggle doesn't look like your struggle". 


Perhaps also, as the first person I showed this to, was unsure how to reply. Eventually they said: It is like you are bleeding straight onto the page.



They continued, keenly observing that. "People do struggle in knowing what to say. I think looking away while you’re so vulnerable is a relic of patriarchy: waiting for you to put your armour back on and get back up and keep pretending we’re all fucking fine."

Take Me To the Moon

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tags:

Alexander

Folder: 
What is Love?
Author's Notes/Comments: 

My Husband always told people he preferred Alexander, yet Alex C. was what he used on everything, he would introduce himself as Alex and everyone always called him Alex...until her. She called him "Alexander". 

What Am I To Make (Of Who I Am?)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Looking down a road to bypass..

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A Corrupted Mind

Folder: 
Poems.
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Itching

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Originally posted on Candid.

 

Just made this up 2322 gmt 15/4/17

About a woman dealing with trauma of child rape contemplating suicide.

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Seven Sins

Folder: 
Humanity
Author's Notes/Comments: 

The seven deadly sins resides in all of us....

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