Waves

I did not think I could be knocked down again

But time and again now I have found

Myself near edge of being drowned

Taught this well, re-instructed and blessed

Learn-ed by life’s patient fists.

I keep my face above the waves

Just barely, by effort of prayer and strain

Like sand through an hourglass.

Someday my buoyancy won’t last.

Loading…

I just want to feel again

Something other than waiting or suspense

Let me remember joy without tears

Give me the patience of love without fear

I’m full beyond empty with courage and loss

What sense does it make – Love,

heartbreak’s highest cost?

Now I wonder when I’ll feel like I’m breathing again

Is it wrong to identify the transitioning seasons

While you live them?

Will I someday stop coping and start

Existing

Again?

Panic

I am told these endless tales

Myths and legends, of how I prevail

Tell me where then, this strength you cite-

has gone, and why I feel so frail?

At any moment my blood will stop

It will back into my skull and pop

Dripping down each empty socket

Breaking my rib cage and pooling my pockets

Back the way it was before

The days I was dying, the dreams I abhor

The memories of childhood stitched up and fixed

A traumatic memory, I endless resist

WHY

CAN’T

I

JUST

REST

Peace in storms

What kind of lightness is now set into my soul

Where a store of chaos has fallen from its hole?

I crammed in every if and dream

The nightmares singing their trancelike screams…

Now, exposed, they all flood out;

A waterfall of wasted doubt.

Why die to tame the lightning and wind?

Why not instead bind the star within

I cannot control where the air-fire strikes

But my heart? It is mine.

And it shall do as I like.

Trastorno

Fear is

The unwillingness to cut my fingernails

Lest I be without a weapon.

Expecting everyone to hurt me

With every passing second.

Trauma is

Unbridled rage when someone is flippant about the two ton metal monster they command with the twist of a wheel.

Catastrophic thought is

The absolute assurance that someone is dead

When they don’t pick up the phone.

PTSD is not

Being careless with emotions; immature and loud

Over-sensitivity because of insecurity

Or disliking certain sounds

Post traumatic stress is

Sweating through your decaying dreams

Waking to silent, dehydrated screams

Covered in despair, certain the lives in your sleep would still be out there

If not for your own failure.

It’s

The inability to face that room

The panic that comes over you

When a movement doesn’t belong; someone’s behavior is jarring or

Wrong.

It’s bracing for blows that may never come

After so many years of not being ready and getting knocked down

You can’t bear the possibility

Of another blindside,

so you

Expect pain

And torment, crime

And death

And blood and fear and trauma

All. The. Time.