What happens to my trauma?
Does it vanish like a magician’s trick?
Or does it eat away at me burnt up-
empty and sick?
Or does it harden me brittle and quick?
Or does my trauma become sweet revenge of healing into wholeness I greet?
Pow!
Went My Head On The Ground,
Daddy’s Words Remaining Foul,
Blood Rushed Out Of My Head,
Like Spilt Blood Of The Undead,
Call The Police Mama Said,
Shut The Fuck Up Before I Shoot You,
Y O U Get On The Bed.
Thats Our Child You're Leaving There To Die,
His Pants Unzipped Her Pussy Dry
Father Father, For You I Cry
Let This Man Have A Heart Attack
Let Him Fry.
Looking Down I Call… Brother
Whilst Daddy Pushing Me Down With No Hesitation
Ever So Lovely
Ever So… Beautiful
My Darling
Sun Filled Radiant Child
He Shrugs
Struggles Once More,
A Quick Moment Of Pleasure,
Inside …. Me,
Mine…,
Reshaped,
Scratched
Bruised,
Rearranged Uterus,
Still Swollen In Pain Now,
Cracked Up Coerced Voice
Hands Agitated,
Pinned Down,
Shaking
Body Breaking
Boom!! What Shattered
Glass Against The Ladder
Fast Moving Bullet
Came Faster Than Daddy Inside Me
ehiko in The Experience of Pain
Tears of acid run down my face
Tears of acid I wish to replace
Tears of acid run down my face
I wish to cry tears of joy
Tears of joy please run down my face
For years of acid I wish to replace
Carlene in Obstacles to Overcome
She looked at her own face and saw true joy.
In her eyes she saw a genuine sparkle.
All those years she was missing.
And didn’t know it.
She simply thought it was motherhood.
The grief she felt.
At the years and connections lost.
For not being allowed to feel.
For not being allowed to speak up.
For not allowing herself.
For judging herself. For self-hatred.
And at the same time the joy, the gratitude, the Love she felt.
To be re-found.
To Feel.
To Express.
Again.
Do you know where she is? The true you.
Avdeep in Personal Transformation
Author Statement
These poems started to come to me with ease in January 2019, about 9 months after I had a concussion. It was after 9 months of really slowing down and resting (because the concussion gave me no other choice!) that these poems started to arise.
The first one I ever wrote arose when I realized how lost and disconnected I’d been for so many years. But now there was a turning point where I was starting to feel something different! I was beginning to experience joy, gratitude and health again. My first poem (“Light and Dark,” above) arose when I saw this difference.
Over time, these poems would come as “downloads” after I’d allow myself to feel emotions and hurts of past traumas. Sometimes they’d come during meditation or while being in nature. Other times they’d come after therapy appointments or after being in contact with a toxic relative. They came sporadically, sometimes months apart.
The poems have been an outlet for me to allow my voice, feelings and thoughts to come through; and with no expectation or pressure on myself of whether I’d share them or not. They’ve been a part of my healing journey and process. I hope they help others too now in some way!
This pain, this stress, this suffering,
I’ve felt and touched it, too.
Life is much more than this
This joy, this calm, this rejoicing,
I’ve felt and touched it, too.
Life has much more of this.
Take my hand, come my friend.
We cross to the other shore.
The waters are fierce and fast.
The waters are cold and deep.
But first we must calm our minds
To avoid false warning signs.
Breathing in, I am still.
Breathing out, I am strong.
Alone no one can cross.
Together we live to tell.
Alone no one can escape.
Together we climb from hell.
Hope, joy, and love are true.
So come my friend, take my hand.
Together we cross, together we flee.
Together we are a raft.
My healing is bound to yours.
Our old wounds are still fresh.
So come my friend, take my hand.
We cross to the other shore.
P Palmer in Personal Transformation
Author Statement
Writing this poem was for me an opportunity to share my hope and gratitude. I’m a survivor of
childhood sexual violence, and I’m also a firm believer that nothing is lost. The innocence I once
had is still there beneath the rubble. The hope and joy are still there, too
My healing journey has been like crossing to the other shore of a violently flowing river. I tried
to cross alone many times, always turning back. Those experiences taught me that I can’t cross
alone. I discovered, just as many before me, that two survivors together are a trustworthy raft.
Together we survivors can cross to the other shore, the other side of trauma and pain. Writing
this poem was a way to share my conviction. We recover. We heal. We triumph.
Am I just a traveller on this road called life?
Passing through
Lots to do
No way of knowing how long it will be
Until I arrive,
On my journey of recovery
I will get there. I will get there.
So many yarns to unravel, some untangled
Others to unwind
Be kind
Who will I meet upon the way?
Providing comfort and hope,
On my journey of recovery
I will get there. I will get there.
Restoration of mind, peace in thy heart
My goal
Replenish the soul
Quench the thirst from a fountain of knowledge,
Gained over time from paths not always chosen
On my journey of recovery
I will get there. I will get there.
An inscription has not been moulded
My destination
Or by one’s creation
Do I walk alone or listen quietly in sound?
Graced by the presence of an unseen hand
On my journey of recovery
I will get there. I will get there.
Questions hover on the edge of silence
Should I ask?
Take off the mask
Where is the end from where it began?
Is it when the doves are released,
On my journey of recovery
I will get there. I will get there.
Weary in feet yet my body does go forth
A new sound
Gaining ground
Discover light under the gaze of darkness
A shimmering promise in the mist of the night,
On my journey of recovery
I will get there. I will get there.
A moment will arise when time pauses to hear
A powerful voice
My choice
To change the pace for clock hands to move
When the past leaves the present, with a future so bright
On my journey of recovery
I will get there. I will get there.
E Shane in Obstacles to Overcome
Author Statement
When I wrote this poem, it was a conversation with myself. An acknowledgement and acceptance that I still am travelling on my journey but that is okay. A reminder to be kind to myself and although I may still carry the pain and knowledge of what I have been through, my road ahead has not been carved out in stone from what has happened to me, but is a road of determination to keep going, not to ever give up hope that things will get better and my voice is and will continue to be my strength. I wanted to remind myself that whilst it may seem a very long road to walk, I will get there.
There was nowhere for them to hide.
What did they see, oh god, what did they see?
The children torn from families
And killed by diseases--
Diseases of their keepers’ minds.
A school by any other name…?
Extermination Camp.
There is nowhere for us to hide.
We run
From the burning shame,
The burning forests,
The burning remains of life,
Fueling our mad escape.
Now finding ourselves
Ablaze and engulfed by the wind
Of our running, choking on the smoke
And mirrors.
How many bodies of children
Until we hit rock bottom?
Until we come alive to our deadness,
And look into a child’s eyes?
Andrea Robin Skinner in The Voice for Others
Author Statement
I wrote this poem to cope with the grief that comes up over the children violated and killed in Canada’s genocide. The failure to recognize and cherish the goodness and dignity of children--instead to see children as expendable--kills the future, and I believe keeping our hearts open and facing the devastating truths of the past is our only hope. I feel such broken longing to care for those who died, and when the tears come for them, they also come for me, and you. All children are worthy of love. Always.
Always the games. The dares.
He dared me to wear my mother’s wig to town,
To put her clothes on, and her shoes.
To chase my mother with a mummified rat,
And mock her swim stroke,
A fluttery gesture
That foretold sinking.
I wanted to be just like him.
Not like my mother, crying all the time.
I did it all, but he punished me for it.
Bad things happen to bad girls.
One day, I threw a frog into the lake,
Again and again.
I watched it swim to shore a hundred times.
Then, once, it didn’t.
I cried.
What did I expect? I’d thrown it a hundred times.
I could never go back.
I would never be the girl who hadn’t done that.
Andrea Robin Skinner in Personal Transformation
Author Statement
I wrote this poem after reading about self-forgiveness. It is one thing to know I was not to blame for wanting love, and that my need for love was exploited, but it is another thing to really feel the truth and beauty and sadness of innocence. That recognition is the love I’ve always wanted and needed.
For all those times
You stripped away my layers
Made me taste forbidden fruit
Forced my hands to do your work
Penetrated beyond boundaries
Hands snaked around my neck ready to silence the sound
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I endured unwanted shadows creeping inside
Felt cold metal of a barrelled gun pushed against my head
Suffered perversion of injustice
Paralysed my breath through restrained fear
Offered my services on a plate
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I quickened my footsteps down a dim lit path
Criss-crossed patterns in the road to shake away the followers
Barricaded my sanctuary through blockades of furniture
Feigned sleep to hasten your desire
Gave you permission without speaking a word
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I didn’t dare scream
Kept quiet
Stayed silent
Never fought back
Ever told
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I felt special
Chosen by you
Thought you loved me
Wanted your attention
Asked for more
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I trusted you
Loved you
Despised you
Feared you
Missed you
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I trembled to speak
Felt ashamed
Pushed the knife deeper in
Faded into darkness
Shattered into broken pieces
For all those times
I never said no
For all those times
I am haunted daily
I speak out
Fear will no longer silence me
My voice shall be heard
Truth will resonate
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I wasn’t asked
I give myself permission
My choice
My body
My right
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
I longed to say stop
Stop.
I am the adult
With ownership
Of my freedom
For all those times
I never said no.
For all those times
You think you won
Of lives destroyed
We will stand strong
United in power
Together as one
For all these times
We will say no.
Elizabeth Shane in The Voice for Others
Author Statement
I wrote a new poem from my new collection, for all those who suffered childhood sexual abuse, sexual assault, trauma, unwanted harassment and attention, put in a position of vulnerability, domestic violence and situations where you were not ever given a choice to say no.