Tag: PTSD

Forgiveness is not my job

Forgive her, him, them
What for?
Healing? 
Pish!
Closure?
Posh!
Peace of mind?
Ha!

Let go
Let go of all that is not yours to carry
Shame, hate, pain, anger, violence
Send it back 
Send it back

Return to sender
What's mine is mine
What's yours is yours

Don't fret
Ponder
Rumage
Let go
Set yourself free 

But forgiveness?
Forgive yourself always!
Forgive them, him, her?
Not your job.
None of your business!
That his, her, their soul work to undertake

None of your business

Set yourself free
By claiming you
Your youness
Your power
Your light
Your strength
Your happiness

Unburden yourself 
From carrying the weight of the perpetrator
It's not yours to carry
It's not your path to walk
They wanted you to 
To join them in darkness
To join them in pain
To join them in shame
To follow their insanity
Just 
Do 
Not 
Walk this path

Choose 
Choose freedom
Choose your own path
And let go
You are not obliged to forgive
Send this back to 
Them, her, him

Trigger Warning

Like light and dark
Like clouds crossing the ocean
So cross your feelings
Bobbing with the waves
Push and pull

Come closer I need you
Go away I hate you

That’s how it works
The traumatized self
Can’t cope alone
Can’t cope together

Must find someone to hate
To leash out to
Must have an enemy
Because every enemy created is better
Is saver then the enemy within

The one you can’t escape
The one who whispers from the shadows
The one you have forgotten

For now

But the pain
You haven’t forgotten
The pain is still there
Body memory
Simmering underneath the surface
The pain is anger now
A self righteous mission against windmills
Giants who never were

That’s why you chose to fight them
They are invisible
Nobody understands
And thus you win because nobody can tell you that your mission is a hoax
A distraction
A ploy

Is the ocean really full of tears?

Cried by mermaids?
Cried by you?

I wonder.
I ponder.
As I watch tiny droplets turn from crimson to gold.

Who else would cry so much?

All the wars?
The ones with weapons, the ones without.
There is no space for tears.
All the hunger?
From lack of food, from lack of love.
There is no energy for tears.
All the violence?
Sin against bodies, sin against souls?
There is no breath for tears.

So where do the tears come from?

I wonder.
I ponder.
As I watch tiny droplets turn from crimson to gold.

They come after.
Once it’s over.
I think.

Because after.
There is space.
And the duct tape that held your soul together.
Rips.

I wonder.
I ponder.
As I watch tiny droplets turn from crimson to gold.

If.

There is an after.

 

There is hope.