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1975 The Summer Of Fun

Sometimes things are not as they seem.

The summer of 1975 provided hot, sunny days and warm, balmy evenings in Detroit. Having a pool in our backyard meant late-night swims so we could go to bed and let the box fan in the window blow air on our wet hair, helping to cool us off enough to sleep. That was my parents’ idea of air conditioning. I never minded the heat. As hot as it was, it was nothing compared to the humid, tropical weather I experienced on my many...

I take a deep breath The air is glass Slicing through my lungs I’m choking I lay my head down The bed is made of nails Piercing through my skin I’m weary I drift off to sleep Hands grab at me in the black Ripping at my sides I’m petrified I awake and grab a glass of water The acid stings on its way down Blistering my insides I’m suffering I smile in the mirror A twisted reflection appears My teeth clatter in the sink Surv...

I Asked Them Not To Touch Me

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” ~ Laurell K. Hamilton

My midwife first came to me and I asked for her, not to touch me. For I had recently been examined on admission and I was progressing as would be expected, for someone whose rhythms had been disrupted by the discomfort of driving to the hospital, and the cold, sterile environment of the assessment unit. Ten years today, and I still vividly remember how quickly I escaped the wheelchair and wandered to the confines of the b...

And in this labyrinthThe hallways, they echoed and groanedCreatures that lurk in the darkThey keep watching, watching me drownWhy are they talking to me?What does it mean, who should I be?I think I’m paranoidMy hands are too shaky to holdI try real hard but I can't forgetThe evil that I see has taken over me  

Anonymous

To Purge

With grief comes trauma and then the purge

  Shock rushes through your very bones  To rise and fall like waves of a restless sea  Plunging your heart deep into the cavity of an abyss  Where all those go – that are amiss   You succumb to feeling numb  The present now out of place  No trace  No hint  Not a single glint  From what once felt so real   A tangible being  To touch  To smell  To hear  … Now you feel   As they persist to exist in your mind  You accept in v...

Anonymous

Dad

Processing family trauma one poem at a time.

“Can we pretend things are how they used to be?”Can I look for my own reflection instead of yours in the mirror? The moments between heartbeats are the only ones your voice doesn’t follow. I can no longer hear affection after seeing your rage. Listening makes my ears bleed now.  “Can’t you just let it go?”Can’t you just let me go? My teeth ache from clenching my jaw.My throat, from choking down responses to keep peace, is...

If you embrassed my heart, It wouldn't shatterIf you caressed my essence,It wouldn't splatter  Broken; Am I no longer I've learned to live darknessDays pass as I grow strongerI am comforted by my own stillness  Resilence with styleHumored with a sharp tongue Sensitive with a smileA promising song is sung   

She is cracked and dryShards of whatShould be.Empty air does not live here,A harsh lit space of nothingnessWhere blinding whiteScours reject sidesAnd spears of brokenStab the world.The winds of voicesFlow on pastUnheard.There is no soil or waterBound to take in seedsSoft blown alongTo settle lightly,Root down firm,For nothing livesIn arid pain.Tip the broken vesselOn her endFor shame.Noisome ooze of fecal oil,A black and...

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Untitled

Relantionship; Post-Trauma

I open my eyes to the harsh sunlight, proudly beaming through my windowIt doesn't cleanse away the dread or mundane sorrowPushing greasy hair away from my faceWalk out the door, down the steps, repressing my failure to communicate From down the street, you call my name, but in my daze, it's distorted As I approach closer to you, a grin sprawls across your faceI force myself to replicate it, but I can't hide where my mind...

Beware of Barefooting: a cautionary tale

About the close encounter of the worst kind between my bare foot and a pile of chicken manure

Over on a web site for the blind I often infest, someone said the recently passed first day of May, in addition to being May Day and Beltane, had also been something called ‘Barefoot Day’. To this I felt compelled to reply as follows, sort of:As for that info about May 1st also being ‘Barefoot Day’, well, let’s just say that I’ve been there, done that, stepped in sticker beds, into piles of chicken shit, and onto sweet gu...

No More Games

Vinny hates playing games, but Alice keeps trying anyways.

“Let’s play!” she says to me, tugging at my hand. I shake my head, planting my feet firmly and yanking my arm free from her slim fingers. Alice frowns at me, before shrugging and running towards the large playground. Alice always asks me to play with her, but I never go; instead, I go sit next to the large brick wall with my book. I don’t read though, just pretend to. Instead, I watch the other kids start up a game of pir...