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I Am Coming Unglued - Survivor of Childhood Abuse and Trauma

I was experiencing a trauma trigger. Writing this poem centered me and calmed down my emotions. It is odd but it is what flowed. I do not apologize or analyze because it is real. Poetry coming from trauma is healing; don't look to critically; simple gaze upon like you would abstract art hanging upon a wall.


_______________________________________________________

I sense I am coming unglued.

Drip, drip, snip, snip

Like a rag doll, stitches removed,

Pecked away by a raven or crow.

It's okay it doesn't know.

Carelessly, unaware,

It's a bird: it does not care.



Hear the water hit the pan,

Irritating is the sound,

Slowly dripping to the ground.

Tin, tapping, repeat, repeat.

A dripping faucet, I have a leak.

Sadness seeps out of my core.

Superglue-- it holds no more.

Glasses broken, my dress is tore.



How many times did she survive the war?

Battles her both day and night?

Still she hangs on in the fight.

Warrior, so others claim.

Don't get close or you'll get burned.

Hot explosion, she does not warn.

She does not know; she's just forlorn.

Is she me and Am I her?

Maiden fair or ugly bear?



No one listens; cannot hear.

She speaks a language that's not clear.

Only hurting others know

And they can't help, on the same show.

See the spectacle she makes of her life.

Quietly, walking by, out of sight.

Glare through windows, do not stare.

Might interrupt that you care.



Yes, she's crazy, God, she knows.

Still she's someone that God grows.

What's His reason, each breath He gives,

Doesn't He know it helps her live?

Mercy, mercy, I give up.

Suffering has filled my cup.

Sip it if you want to try.

Don't pretend, and live a lie.


Target practice starts at ten.

She's the target, watch her spin.

We'll have fun, it's just for sport.

Life is simple, without a heart.

Watch her bleed, tears in her eye

Better yet, let's hear her cry.

Too late, sorry, it's not enough.

We are late for other stuff.


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