All Poems | Page 8 of 11 | Global Poetry Movement

Lightning

If I am struck down,
let it be by a thought so magnificent
it changes the shape and texture
of the universe;

If I am broken,
let be under the weight of the words
of a poet overcome by passion
and madness;

If I change,
let it be because I am evolving,
not because I’ve been trodden upon
or defeated;

If I am to be saved,
let it be by that which is
in me;

Let it be that inchoate song
that swells and strikes my heart
like lightning.

Author Statement

I was in a place of sadness and hurt (experiencing an emotional breakdown) when I wrote this poem. I wished dearly that the source of hurt I was feeling wasn’t the harmful/crippling things inflicted upon me by others–that I could, instead, be preoccupied with things that moved and inspired me. I supposed it could be likened to the difference between growing pains and pain that’s inflicted with malicious intent..? At the same time, I wished to be strong enough to overcome the things weighing down my soul. I have never had anyone I could rely on emotionally so it was, and remains, very important to me that I be the source of my own strength. At the time, I wasn’t sure I had it in me. This poem was a prayer of sorts… or at the very least, a very strong wish to persevere.

Silent Suffering

The constant shame and self-judgement.
The many times I tried to tell someone and froze.
Feeling like I was a target for abuse to happen. What had I done to cause it?
My innocence was lost. Who would love someone like me?
Plagued by feelings of unworthiness.
Existing for others and never for myself.
Feeling lost, alone, unseen.
My true self hides in the shadows no more.

MB in The Experience of Pain

Always Remember

We have to listen
We have to act
Protect our children
That's all we ask 🙏
MLG Survivor
RIP MK 🙏

Derrick Brown in The Voice for Others

Derealization

lush fabric hangs
Tied with a ribbon of silk
No, a rubber band
Thick pads ready to absorb
A coloured liquid
Red and gold
A stain of grape
The candle flame almost gone
Pencil and paper, bleached
Tiny fibers, linen Grey
I'm sliding into dissociation
A movie of my life
Behind glassine
Make all the marks on
Mistakes are few
I see my face shadowed in light
Pressing on the pane

MD in Obstacles to Overcome

Author Statement

I wrote this poem to describe how I deal with something called “derealization,” which is a mental health problem that means I’m watching a movie of my life unfold before my eyes. It’s a condition I’ve had all my life and it’s a dissociative disorder. In the poem I tried to show how I use art to cope with daily episodes and being triggered into derealization, which affects me in a way where I feel numb and zoned out. I totally immerse myself in art and that is my God.

Freed Spirit

Waywaymegwun, Randy Charboneau in Personal Transformation

(Speak Up) – a slam poem

I look for codeine on the faces of boys, in the taste of thumbs wiping underneath my eyes, in the mattresses with three untucked corners and the stain of loneliness tattooed onto the hem of its comforts, where she fucks herself just to feel loved because no man should touch the demons in her spit, the death in her lungs, the disease of her mind. And I cannot give it away, because I am a sheep-in-a-wolf’s-skin virgin. And I feel that by speaking this, by the end of the night, I won’t be. That’s the relationship I have with humanity.
I have makeup on my hands from trying to make all of the ugly pretty, and they don’t teach you in high school how to breathe through the carbon; they tell you just to make diamonds. Tell that to the little girl halving my insides, locked in the cupboard because she doesn’t want anyone to hear her cry after the father figure of her life ripped himself from it in the burn of Velcro, and why the fuck did she make herself like Velcro? Did she not know it only burns for the surface left behind? That the bandaid feels no pain being ripped from the scraped knee of a toddler? That the mask simply falls after the masquerade, leaving the unseen seen and vulnerable? Why did she make herself of Velcro? Why did she make it so easy for broken to smoke his twelve pack inside of her… like the hand beneath her blouse, and why does everyone justify it with the insanity of age?
No! I was too young to be split like the hairs on my head, the ones my mother wasn’t pulling to make sure her palm connected. What sound are you even supposed to make when you’re being massacred in half? And I can’t stand myself long enough to fully love myself for the propriety in hating myself. And you had no right to tie my apple limbs around your own and shake the produce from my face - this is not a game of how quick we can spoil the fruit or break in the jewelry cases of little glass girls. Because she was a girl, and she trusted you.
And my words are not baseball bats in a messy, touching collision with your chest. My words will not bring the cheering masses to crest on the lonely shore of my lonely mind, because these words are not poetry.
These words are the words spent too long in silence. They are the words ripped from a young girl’s rusty, faucet-throat when she’s screaming nothing but the made bed of silence. These words mean nothing to those standing on the shore of the riverbank, watching the currents as they drown boys too young and baptize girls too old; and they will not matter to the bodies beneath them, cheeks bloating in the salt of their embryonic pockets.
But these words matter to a girl at war with herself and god. To a sister constantly worrying when she will lose to the water. To this girl, who is screaming her eyes dry to you now, because these words nesting in the caves of my throat have been silent for too long.

Nullibicity in The Experience of Pain

Author Statement

I understand staying quiet, and I understand feeling like you need to tell someone or you’ll explode — I stayed silent about it for a long time before I was forced to open up about it, with none of the people displaying healing, loving, or helpful reactions. It wasn’t until a decade later (and 7 years after the creation of this poem) that my disclosure was finally met with the love and support I’d originally craved.

My hope in this piece is that people take away the knowledge that speaking up can be empowering, but that breaking the silence is best when it feels right for you, and with the people that feel right. There isn’t a strict timeline or obligation, just what is best for you and your circumstances. But when you get to the point where you’re able to share your truth… I hope it can relieve some of the pressure. I hope that it’s healing. I hope you reach a point where you don’t feel like you have to censor yourself anymore, or that you’re a sealed envelope, forever to hold the secrets of your experiences inside you. Your power is in your life, your experiences, and how you choose to share them.

Restorative Justice

Randy Charboneau in Personal Transformation

Untitled

I didn’t know how to tell
Who to tell
I felt scared and unsafe to tell

I was 9 when I realized something was no longer right
Not good

It was happening as far as back as 5

It felt good
I felt special

I knew to expect physical pain when revealing any kind of truth

But

6 years forward
I NEEDED to tell

I needed to YELL!

I wanted it ALL to stop!
NO MORE!!!

I don’t want to keep remembering THE day of disclosure
I was 15
It is when and where PTSD began and… had NEVER ended

Slapped, punched, made out as the liar, the bad one, trouble maker

“Get out!!! You are disowned from this family!!!!” echo echo echo echo echo echo

Isolation became both my salvation and peace

It’s safer alone

But… I didn’t know with aloneness came blind onset of worthlessness

Suicide

Disassociation

Survival… and surviving meant, for me… Success without “YOU!” I needed no one!!

Proving and earning my worth into International success!!

20 years old…. WHAT?!!!!

He abused more than me?!!
Someone I loved more than life myself?!!!

I felt an unforeseen force wave over me
Unstoppable

He NOW NEEDED to be STOPPED!!

Without fear, immense anger I without hesitation charged him!

Within one year he was found guilty on two counts;
Gross indecency with a minor
Sexual assault

Do I feel better?
I thought I would
I didn’t
Far from it

If family was distant before
I am NOW the very wrong and bad one
Made to stay away

Suicide sets in again

But I survive
Life goes on

Taking any job that has me look like I’m living my best life

Im married now
28 years old

Fast forward I become a Mom
THIS changed EVERYTHING!

Forgiveness
Love
Reflection
Accountability
Advocacy
Education
Healing
All became my hungry quest for being a part of child abuse intervention

But how?

Finding out how meant reaching out for help, asking questions to get answers too where I felt sometimes embarrassed, guarded, vulnerable and protected

It was not a way of living I was used of
Not my normal
A full transformation

Through it all, I discovered where I thought was the weakest to display was quite the opposite for it was within EVERY human being…

When I stopped to listen to another, and another, and another that, it was in OTHER’S sharing where I rose to discover that;

Vulnerability is the GREATEST superhero trait to EVER expose

It breaks all barriers and causes a planet to shift!!!

A planet for sustainable transformational and positive change, possibilities and miracles!!

Today, I HAVE forgiven
Myself
My child offenders

I have reconciled

I am ALWAYS healing because healing is no longer a negative thought for “fixing me”… healing, for me, is a gracious, very worthy lifestyle!

Who am I?
I AM Charmaine Loverin
I would NOT be who and what I am WITHOUT everyone who has contributed to my life, whether comfortable or not
I am FOREVER grateful
💛

Charmaine Loverin in Obstacles to Overcome

Empowering Canvases

Ink blotted canvases
filled with words of
despair and anger,
mixed with an
overwhelming sense
of anguish.
Admittance and guilt
is shown through the
poor excuses of a man.
Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve,
but didn’t know better.
Or rather, knew better but
ignorance stepped in,
shadowing any sense of
wrongdoing and
inappropriateness;
slicing ties of trust that
once were inarguably
bright for all to see.
Now, dull and faint,
nonexistent; severed ties.
The places I once stood
weak and frail with fear
enveloping my figure,
I now stand with empowerment.
My dignity returns.
My worth returns.
My power returns.
New found strength grows
thicker within and I roar,
“No more!”

KM in The Power of Voice

Author Statement

I had confronted my latest abuser of six years via a written letter, detailing all of the events and how each circumstance affected me. My abuser responded by expressing apologetic guilt while noting no recollection of these events nor his behaviour. This poem is the outcome of confronting him and taking back my power.