I Am Wrecked

Check out my latest poem for the full scoop of what’s going on in my heart and head… or I can just post it here. It’s pretty self-explanatory.

This poem is about repressed trauma and the earth-shattering realization that it does, in fact, exist.

This is a story about repressing a miscarriage experience for years. The subject of this poem experiences a delayed trauma response from a situation that left her agonizingly and brutally broken. This poem is about being used, but stepping into your truth. This poem is about self-discovery and devastation. It is triggering.

Proceed with caution.

It’s like,

When I write,

It’s vigilante,

Double life.

It’s sleeper cell,

Super spy.

It’s secret agent,

GoldenEye.

“Do you like my soul,

Or should I die?”

Potential rejection,

Eats me alive.

Shut it out.

Keep it inside.

Never scowl.

Never cry.

Pens make good swords,

But terrible alibis.

Where silence is nuanced,

Innocuous,

Words are what amplifies.

The scene of many,

Many crimes,

Often lives,

Between the lines.

That’s where you’ll find,

This soul of mine,

I’m oozing with words,

Both left and right.

It’s justified.

It’s starry-eyed.

It’s romanticized.

It’s even fucking harmonized.

But,

You don’t agree,

Do you?

My soul isn’t to be prized.

Just a thing for you to terrorize.

It’s just a thing for you…

To have summited…

And to…

Have climbed…

You knew just what to say,

Barbed wire in your goodbye,

You knew just where to shoot,

And exactly where you should strike,

And,

Goddammit,

Fuck,

Bullseye.

There was venom,

In that goodbye.

I mean,

Did you even try?

Was it all,

Just some lie?

But,

Surely I can compromise? ;(

Yes,

You’re right,

A mess am I.

I’ll change the color of my eyes…

Maybe then you’ll realize…

I promise I can change your mind…

You’ve got me all untied.

How the hell can I unwind?

I’m am but a mess of string,

Loose in piles,

But wound up tight.

You cut me open,

And robbed me blind.

I didn’t know that,

I was the heist.

You saw my soul.

You saw my light.

I let you swim.

I let you dive.

Just for lukewarm,

And unsurprised,

Half-hearted well wishes,

And prompt goodbyes.

I think about this all the time,

You only turn,

If it’s on a dime.

Fuck a broken heart.

I had a broken mind.

And,

You know what?

That IS unkind.

All of my trauma-ridden life,

I worked so hard to be alive.

I will not further compromise,

On behalf of what you “realize.”

I will not be further be victimized,

Patronized,

Or,

God forbid,

Fucking plagiarized.

You are what I had to survive.

I’m glad that we are misaligned.

I can’t imagine treating others,

As if they’re fucking itemized.

I don’t know what happened,

To make you so desensitized,

But it clearly left you broken,

Just a step above paralyzed.

So I’ll end this,

How I started it,

With verses and pens and broken rhymes.

You broke my heart,

My body,

And my mind.

You could give me your worst,

And I would still be just fine.

Much worse I have contended,

And much worse I have survived.

This body,

Heart,

And mind,

They may be broken,

But they’re still mine.

If it were up to me,

Lol,

You’d be sterilized,

But unfortunately,

It is not,

So we’ll compromise.

I don’t want a fight.

I just want you to know,

That I was right.

Knowing you is NOT sublime.

“Friends first”

Is what you said,

Do I have that right?

“Your recovery is priority for me”

Yeah,

Said pigs that took flight.

So let’s take the truth,

Bring it to light.

Buckle up,

You’ll need to,

Sit down,

For this one.

My heart,

Is all out of rhymes,

For you.

I’ve got no suture.

I’ve got no glue.

(Fuck,

Sorry,

That was impromptu)

I’m writing this,

In real time,

It’s going to be messy,

But fuck,

It’ll be alive.

I’ll,

Tell,

You,

My whole side.

What I mean to say is,

I’m not schizophrenic,

I’ve just got bipolar,

And CPTSD.

I finally let you go,

But you had to go,

And get me banned,

From somewhere.

Telling your supervisor,

Some bullshit.

It’s a public space,

Isn’t it?

God forbid,

I enjoy,

Some music.

And you just,

Had to,

Trigger me,

All over again,

With a fucking rock,

That you,

Gave back,

To me.

I was,

Finally,

Over,

It.

Because you can’t,

Help yourself,

Your fragile manchild ego,

Won’t allow it.

You simply,

Must,

Have the moral,

High ground.

The,

Last,

Word.

You,

Don’t,

Even,

Like,

Words.

Not like I do.

I,

Will,

Take,

This.

My last act,

Of radical honesty,

Will be this.

I’m not carrying it,

Alone,

Anymore.

I’m through,

Protecting you.

“Ban her”

BUT

“Give rock back”

Man brain,

Think okay.

Ooga,

Booga.

It’s NOT okay.

I don’t even have,

A cool story,

For being banned.

Just someone’s son,

Uncomfortable,

And guilty.

While,

Ironically,

He,

Should be,

On the sex offender,

Registry.

That’s what happens,

When you assault your friends,

While they’re asleep.

I’m about to tell you why,

That hurt me,

So much.

Buckle up.

I’m through,

Protecting you.

If I have to hurt over it,

Then so the fuck do you.

It’s a lovely litmus test,

I must say,

Knee-jerk reactions,

Pave the way to hell.

I exist,

On the spectrum,

Of schizophrenia.

I am not,

Explicitly,

Schizophrenic.

CPTSD from sexually,

Physically,

Emotionally abusive trauma.

You,

Triggered,

All,

Three.

You,

Were,

All,

Of,

It.

I was someone,

Worth apologizing,

For being with.

Never someone,

Worth apologizing,

To.

[victim] is worth,

Apologizing to,

But you draw the line,

At me.

I’ll tell you,

Why,

You,

Shouldn’t,

Have.

Insignificant.

A blip,

On the radar,

Of you.

But you don’t know,

How long,

Six weeks,

Can be.

I hadn’t written,

Prior to that first poem,

Since I last knew you.

You traumatized me,

So much,

That I couldn’t write,

For years.

And then,

I thought,

You traumatized,

Me again,

So I wrote,

And wrote,

And wrote,

Myself into psychosis.

I lost touch,

With my mind,

Because,

Of,

You.

Because,

You,

Trigger me.

You,

Were,

My,

Friend.

My,

Mom,

Died.

I,

Graduated.

I was in the hospital,

I was young and stupid,

And posted it to Snapchat.

You saw it,

And,

Said,

Nothing.

I,

Really,

Cared,

About,

You.

Even,

Loved,

You,

At one point.

Here’s,

A,

Shock.

Ready?

I,

Was,

Pregnant.

Because,

We,

Didn’t,

Use,

Protection.

And,

Birth,

Control,

Sucks.

I think,

That’s why,

I loved you.

Hormones.

Whore moans,

I guess.

Just a pawn,

In your game,

Of chess.

Would’ve,

Aborted,

Anyway.

If this is how you are,

Naturally,

I don’t want to see you,

Fatherly.

But,

I carried,

That,

Alone.

I told [husband],

And he held me,

Because,

It,

Was,

Only half of you.

But still half of me.

I grieved.

Thank god,

I caught it,

When I did.

Did you know,

I could’ve,

Bled out?

If,

I,

Didn’t,

See,

The,

Signs.

I feel like,

I’m living it,

Again.

I,

Threw,

Up.

I,

Can’t,

Eat.

I,

Can’t,

Sleep.

Because,

A tiny,

Little ghost,

Is,

Haunting,

Me.

All,

Alone.

There was blood,

And it hurt.

All,

Because,

I didn’t,

Want,

Anyone,

To,

Find,

Out,

About,

You…

And I…

Because,

I didn’t want,

To hurt you.

I was so ashamed,

After [ex]

Also,

Didn’t,

Want,

To,

Hurt,

Him,

Too.

Because,

You,

Were,

Friends.

I carried,

It,

In silence.

Told,

No,

One.

Because I was,

Ashamed,

Broken,

So I erased you.

Put it all,

In a box,

And forgot.

That’s why,

I blocked you.

You said,

You didn’t,

Like me,

So,

I,

Carried,

It,

He,

She,

They,

Alone.

You,

Fucking,

Twat.

Why,

Did,

You,

Assault,

Her?

That,

Could’ve,

Been,

Your,

Daughter.

Now,

I,

Published,

A,

Book.

They,

Call,

Me,

Author.

With,

The,

Backlogged poetic shit,

I made,

After,

I,

Got,

You,

Out,

Of,

My,

Way.

I’m going to a conference,

In Baltimore,

Because of my words,

And my brain.

And you,

Have my embroidery,

And you never,

Paid me for it.

It took 5 hours,

And I was,

So excited.

And then,

You told me,

To mail it to you.

And that,

We can,

Only,

Hang,

In a,

Group setting.

Because,

I’m unstable,

I,

Guess.

Oh,

Sweetie,

Sex addiction?

Is that,

What they call,

Being abusive?

If it,

Were,

True.

Women,

Would have,

It too.

But they don’t,

For the most part.

Something,

You,

Can’t,

Control.

Seeing,

Women,

As,

Subhuman.

That has nothing,

On what,

You did,

To me.

I wasn’t,

A,

Person,

To you.

So now you get the awful truth.

The root,

Of my,

Psychosis.

It’s made of stem cells,

A neural tube,

And our stupid choices.

I,

Wanted,

To,

Tell,

You,

About,

It,

He,

She,

They.

No time,

Felt right.

Not after,

I,

Almost,

Died.

I can’t keep it from you anymore,

It almost destroyed me once.

I won’t,

Grieve,

Alone,

Again.

I wanted to die,

I tried,

That’s true.

But it wouldn’t be the first time,

Over you.

Fucking rhymes,

Bro.

But it was because,

You really,

Genuinely,

Hurt me that much.

I thought,

Well,

If the object of my psychosis,

Rejects me,

Again.

Then,

Fuck,

I reject,

Me too.

Like,

My body,

Rejected,

Us.

I’m better,

Now.

So,

Much,

Better.

To think,

You almost,

Took that from me,

For good.

My words,

My ability,

To write,

Poetry.

It’s crazy,

If I had died,

Nobody would’ve known,

About,

The pregnancy.

Would’ve,

Died,

With,

Me.

But you’re the one,

Who’s misunderstood,

Not to be in and on,

But to only be of.

(Sorry,

I keep doing it,

Rhyming,

Fuck)

I wish I,

Never met you.

I would be,

So much happier.

I would be,

Lighter,

Freer,

Better.

But I’m not,

And you don’t care,

And you’ll choc this poem,

Up to an episode,

And you’ll never see it,

For the poetic,

Conclusion,

That it is.

Fuck,

In another life,

We had a kid.

I am talented,

In surgery,

Writing,

And other shit.

I carried,

Us,

In my body.

I was,

Violently,

Ill,

Over it.

But,

It,

Doesn’t,

Matter.

God,

It hurt.

I,

Gaslit,

Myself,

Into believing,

It,

Never,

Happened.

I,

Tried,

But,

My,

Body and illness,

Kept,

Score.

I can’t run from it.

Not anymore.

I talked about it,

For the first time,

In therapy,

A month ago.

I forgot it.

I can’t believe I forgot it.

Telling my roommates,

It’s just a bad period,

That’s all.

Getting,

Surgical,

Dilation and curretage,

Because my body,

Wouldn’t,

Let go.

Broke,

Could barely,

Afford it.

Had clinical,

Day after.

My uterus,

Was on fire.

I could’ve published,

A dozen books,

But I was stunted,

Because of you.

Fuck,

This,

Poem.

And,

Also,

Fuck,

You.