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rory-is-hiding · 11 months

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i dont think i was made for some huge, worldly reason. i think maybe i was always meant to be small and sad, inside my room. and maybe i was always meant to love, and to never leave. to be soft, and unending, and gentle, and forever.

i am not a great poet. im not particularly talented, or beautiful, or strong. but this is what i do best. maybe its enough, just to show you that good things can exist.

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zombybonezz · 10 months

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I hate sex.

I never wanna have sex again.

I hate bodies, the feeling of skin, flesh, meat.

I don't want to be touched.

I don't need to be touched, I don't need to be loved.

I need to scream, I need to punch you, I need to tear my hair out.

I need to throw up, I need to cry, I need to hate you.

I need to be free, I need to run, I need to dream.

But I'm not allowed to punch you, I'm not allowed to scream, I'm not allowed to hate you, I'm not allowed to run.

I'm not allowed to be free.

I think I need to hate you right now, I think I need to scream right now.

I think I need to climb up on our mountain, I think I need to punch myself in the face, I think I need to throw myself around while I'm screaming.

I think I need to rage.

I need to tear my hair out and rip off my nails. I need to kick out my teeth and stab myself in the heart. I need to swallow plastic and choke myself to death. I need to dance and sing. I need to cut off the parts of me that don't belong here. And I need you to understand. I need you to be mine.

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deer333teeth · 11 months

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it’s gone hollow again

I’ve gone hollow again

I don’t remember how to speak or eat

or breathe or be

I don’t remember how to push a breath through

a chest that isn’t mine

I don’t remember how to love

someone who takes by design

I want to love

I want to be loved

I can’t believe myself to be

To be loved

I want to be a dog

Unconditional adorer

If I’m a dog, I’ve been beat

Made rabid, made for meat

I don’t believe in a man

who loves or helps

without wanting something in return

I don’t believe in a body

that can ever feel like home

Most days I walk along the “what if’s”

if I’d been born a boy

Would he have found me as tempting?

would someone else have, in his place?

Would I have fallen in love by now?

Would the standards have morphed me?

Would the waistline of my father’s genes

have pulled the skin taught against my bones?

Would I still be afraid to eat

If his chromosomes had tugged me taller?

Most days I don’t know

Where my mother ends and I begin

I wonder though

I wonder

#vent #my vents #mine #my poetry #poetry #vent poem #dissociation #trauma vent #traumacore #ptsd vent #ptsd poem #ptsd #actuallyptsd #canine #vent poetry #trans vent #ftm vent

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voicesandthoughts · 1 year

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Why didn't you report then

because by the time I realized I could, that would be the first question you ask me

and to be honest even the voice in my own head sometimes thinks I'm "over-exaggerating"

I could read every definition of abuse and so could you

and in the end we'll be collaborating

but only to look for reasons that it's my fault, reasons that it doesn't really count

You'll drive me insane enough to shout

but it's unacceptable to lose my temper, even in his presence and even asked:

You have no proof, I don't believe you

(I don't) did your memories deceive you?

You led him on, did you not?

Nobody cares that I was nine and only to prove me wrong would they count the time that has passed

We would have picked up on the signs, it couldn't have happened that many times

I didn't report because that would be hell

I didn't report because he swore to my destruction if I dared tell

I didn't report him because everyone still loves them and in the end it's only his word against mine.

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twtd · 1 year

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There is literally so much going on

My fp (who happens to be a system) got a new host back in January.... who wanted nothing to do with me. Completely cut me off.

They would send me TikToks but would refuse to answer me, when I asked about some other app they blocked me and that moment I split. I blocked them on tt so I wouldn't get their messages. They could still message me if they wanted but they couldn't just send a tt with a push of a button.

I've been working in therapy on this relationship for a while, it's been something that's been eating me inside. I used to talk to them all day everyday about everything and anything. And suddenly I get told to fuck off. It's been sending me into such a spiral that I've been holding onto anything by a fucking thread. I hated myself for literally how all of this was making me feel and they fact that I was letting myself feel that way.

Fast forward to today, it's been a fucking weird ass week already but I'm not going to get into that but I'm sitting down at home just nursing a migraine and I get a message that I thought was from a friend of mine so I opened it to respond. I looked to see who sent it and you guessed it, it was my fp. Bringing up the most casual conversation. Like they hadn't just ignored me the past month. Like they hadn't told me to fuck off. Like they didn't play mind games with me.

I've been called manipulative and abusive and a gaslighter when I have tried to tell people how I feel, what I think. I know how they treated me in this case, I have so much evidence that I could not make up. But I still can't leave. I fucking can't. I need to know they're ok I need to make sure that they know I care that I can pass whatever test they're giving me that I can be the best for them but also I just want to go back to an hour ago when they hadn't texted me and things weren't as complicated again and I know I wanted this but I don't want it but I want it but I don't want it but I don't want it but I want it but I don't want it but I don't want it but I want it but I don't want it

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greantea · 1 year

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The crack in the window left the disorientation of time into her being. Which, then, sprout the endless, constant, disassociation and utter spiral from the pure reminder of your existence.

#ptsd #flashback #trauma #cptsd memes #cptsd thoughts #short poem #poem #disorientation #dissacociation #disassociate #disability #sad #depressive poems #post traumatic stress syndrome #self worth #ptsd problems #ptsd poem

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serenityscribes · 1 year

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An ode to my therapist(s) (2023)

Thank you. For seeing value in the mess For seeing the person I was Underneath all the trauma The tears that flowed unbidden For reminding me, Being gentle and Yet firm That it would not be that way Forever and for always I couldn’t believe then But it was a beacon A shimmer of hope That someday the chapter would end The page would turn And a new day would dawn When I was no longer jumping At shadows and danger That weren’t really there You held space for (re)discovery And gave me strength To find my way back To life

- E. Ecker, January 2023

#poem #ptsd recovery #ptsd #ptsd poem #therapy #trauma #hope #original poem #original writing #poetry #poetry-blog #self #poets of tumblr #writers of tumblr

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riverosss · 1 year

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like a deer running onto the highway

for the possible attention of another,

you find you will do crazy things for love.

did the leftover paint on your hands leave a scar behind?

will you always look for the time you lost?

how frustrating it is that you're only wasting more.

i'll miss you when you change your mind again.

i'll always despise these days.

there is a lighter in your bed and i know one day you will toss and turn yourself into a housefire.

if you take a left between asleep and awake you can watch it all over and over.

you know you love the self-destruction.

i'll always despise these days.

r.r. chariot.

#i wrote this during an episode lol #poetry #poet #poetry on tumblr #poets on tumblr #bpd poetry #ptsd poetry #ptsd poem #cptsd

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agirldying · 1 year

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i would love to read any of your work 🖤

Here's what was previously published, I might edit to add some unpublished works!

#text #asks #trauma #tw #ptsd poetry #ptsd poem #cptsd poetry #ptsd #cptsd #grooming #child grooming #tw cocsa #tw csa

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severemind · 2 years

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#bpd #mental illness #cluster b #abuse #emotional abuse #poetry #mental illness poetry #poemblr #borderline #bpd poem #abuse poem #trauma #ptsd #cptsd #trauma poem #ptsd poem #trauma poetry #ptsd poetry #borderline poetry

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holdingdarkness · 1 year

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Poem 3

TW physical abuse

When I was a child,

I was whipped

for throwing a brick,

perhaps more than one,

into the road

with a neighbor child,

the worst of companions.

I remember the whipping,

but also the lovely crash,

but most of all the whipping.

And that fast, I am back there,

a five-year-old, watching

from somewhere outside myself.

Process: Remix

Source: Jackson, Shirley. The Haunting of Hill House. New York: New York, 2006. 53, 15, 5, 3, 109, 2, 380, 34, 92. Print.

Note: Some of this from page 53 is closer to source context that I usually use, but since I was forcibly spanked over throwing bricks, I couldn’t pass up utilizing the lines. So for transparency’s sake, here is the original paragraph:

“When I was a child,” Theodora said lazily, “—‘many years ago,’ Doctor, as you put it so tactfully—I was whipped for throwing a brick through a greenhouse roof. I remember, I thought about it for a long time, remembering the whipping, but remembering also the lovely crash, and after thinking very seriously I went out and did it again.”

#found poetry #poeming #physical abuse #cPTSD life #PTSD flashbacks #PTSD poem #child abuse

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rory-is-hiding · 6 months

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i wish you loved me so then you would be kind to me. i wish you loved me enough.

#poetic #poems and poetry #ptsd poem #ptsd recovery #love poem #mental health #sad poem #my poem #prose poem #unrequited romance #romantic poetry #romantic poem #complex ptsd #heartbroken #web weaving #womanhood

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zombybonezz · 10 months

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Like mother like father

I need to make my mother proud, let her know that it’s not her fault.

I need to be beautiful like her.

Think sweet thoughts like her.

My mother is the most angelic person that exists, she carries the weight of the entire world on her shoulders.

I hold her rage for her, I keep our wounds in the same jar, safely kept from the rest of the world and damage.

I brush my hair and paint my lips to look like her, and not like the monster who crushed her soul.

I look in the mirror and see him, I cry for my mother, for her to hold me and rock me to sleep, for her to make me forget about him.

I lay in my blue room, staring at my reflection.

I can’t recognize myself, all I see is my father.

His eyes, his nose, his lips, his face shape, his eyebrows.

But when I drag my fingers through my hair and look at my teeth, I feel her warm embrace surround me again.

And once again, I am safe.

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deer333teeth · 2 years

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University Writer’s Mag: fall 2022 semester // theme : eroticism

Sex. The concept has been buried deep in the back of my mind since before I learned to remember. Submerged under layer after layer of dirt, roots and centipedes’ legs tying it tighter and tighter down, binding and burning the word into my brain stem. Then years had passed and the roots gave way. The insects scattered and the earth loosened around their ghosts. The floodgates opened, silt spilled in and washed over the decade-old open wound.

To me, eroticism was a death sentence. The musk that lifts off Their skin when they look at me. The heat on Their breath as their thoughts ignite in their throat. The kind of touch that smolders on your skin for the rest of your life; the kind of touch that makes you terrified of holding someone’s hands. The kind of touch that makes your best friend’s fingers running through your hair in sixth grade send shockwaves down your spine. The gloss that spreads over Their eyes, which already sting to look into. I don’t want to know when they’re looking. I don’t want to know what they see.

To me, touch is the fangs of a mad dog. No matter how many times I squint my eyes and hold out my hand, no matter how many times that hand is met with a wet nose instead of blood drenched teeth, some part of me will always fear dogs.

Now it is my own fangs, drenched in my own blood, biting at the hand that feeds. Sex was once the boot pulled back and aimed sharply at my snout. Now it is my own teeth, digging digging digging deeper under my skin. Clawing at the dirt still caked around the wound. And my wrists are still streaked red in patches, echoing the shapes of Its edges. The kind of sting that mirrors the fingernails I dug into my palms to tether the self to the body. And my sides are still painted with bruises. The kind of ache that lingers where the original sin was cast. And there is a hole still left gaping in my stomach. The kind of empty that makes you grieve a love you’ve never felt. No touch can reach deep enough.

There are no teeth, no claws, that could rip the final roots from my head. There is no flame that does not burn, no heat that could not scorch something so soft as human skin. There are no hands that could stir the final specks of soil from their place behind my eyes. No touch can reach deeper than love.

R. A.

#my poetry #poetry #ptsd poetry #ptsd poem #csa vent #csa tw #csa poetry #trauma poetry #vent poetry

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voicesandthoughts · 1 year

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Twenty years older

Men like that are proof that you never know who you're speaking to

He'll put on a show and hide the papers where they'll never be found

Men like him are experts at sniffing out the girls that are still innocent and mild

They are still more than susceptible to the confound

He never cared that they were all a child

He was supposed take care of you

but he chews you up, through and through

hands grow teeth and mistake themselves for filthy eyes

They justify themselves with the same book every act defies

until you're dreading every moment alone, every night in your bed

when he'll touch and whisper things that shouldn't be said

Where love should have been was only the loss of innocence

Sweet strategized bombs and threats between the downpour

He was twenty years more

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dramatic-shitpost-poet · 1 year

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Silence is the worst

With it piercing deep

The ache within me

With all sounds being but a creek

In silence there's no comfort, "we"

It tears me apart like jagged teeth

Stripping me of dignity

Rip away any peep

Stings aggressively, minty

For one moment I laugh

Before the silence creeps in

It hurts, pulling me in half

For there's uncertainty, no win

I can't be alone, not at all

But others drain away slow

And all my walls start to fall

With broken music boxes and bows

That's why it hurts

Silence is the worst.

#poetry #sad boy #sad boi hours #poetic #poem #silence #ptsd poetry #ptsd poem #complex ptsd #feeling alone #broken #sonnet like

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