There is a year that has never left me.
It has successfully stitched sickening moments into my skin and branded silent screams into my soul.
Some nights I imagine that those memories could be burnt away. As if my pain could curl up and combust like paper that has been lit on fire.
As if I could strike a match against the faint patchwork of scars stretching across my thigh and flick a sulfuric flame onto everything odious that happened that year.
I always hope that it burns fast.
And I always pray that it ignites your name first.
Tag: trauma
Statistics
I'm a statistic, but aren't we all?
We all exist as a number,
a simple digit paying dues
to whatever damage
has been done to us.
That is the sadness of our reality.
We are all just data points and
percentages in a passive population.
Detached
She couldn't understand why
she never felt the pain...
It had to have hurt.
It was the cortisol,
the norepinephrine...
It was the chemicals produced from
sheer panic that had instantaneously
turned her blood into red rivers
of viscous lidocaine.
Her senses so forcibly amplified
that everything else had just
gone numb.
0918
She regretted her silence.
She regretted not putting up a fight.
She regretted blankly staring
into the off-white frame holding
one of the happiest moments of her life...
While he was giving her one of her worst.
Reality
That painful reality doesn't want to coexist with reason... So disbelief disguises truth with doubt and confusion...
Wounds
Everyone has a story to tell.
Everyday as a nurse, I care for someone who has a story to tell. It could be a juicy romance, a historical non-fiction, or a very fucking dark tragedy. However, in every story I hear… there is a wound, a heartbreak, or a trauma.
I’ve met people who have lost limbs in wars, families who have lost children, and those so sick they have given only days to live… and they all have a story to tell based on their own personal tragedy. And even though they may be telling me the damn worst imaginable story (that make me cry in the bathroom afterwards)… majority of the time they are at fucking peace and have accepted their pasts.
I am coming to realize that everything that makes us who we are… are our dark pasts and wounds. Every scar tells a story. Every trauma that we face molds us into the person that we are. It is up to us, me and whoever you are reading this, to make the best out of the traumas we are dealt. We need to be able to grow, learn, and accept our past wounds to become better people. i mean… fuck… the shit that each of us has gone through or is going through is terrible. But…
We only have one life. ONE FUCKING LIFE. So don’t ignore your fucky past, accept it. Make the best out of every fucking day. Live without regrets. Create amazing memories. Love others and yourself.
Honor the fucking traumas that molded your story.
AO Poetry 