BEGINNINGS
How do I begin?
How does one begin to put years
worth of pain on a page,
and expect the reader
to ever understand?
You, the reader, you,
have been doomed to misunderstanding
from the moment you laid
your eyes on this page.
My best hope is that someone
out there can comprehend
the nights
that insomnia insisted
on keeping me company,
while my parents slept in separate beds.
Maybe someone can understand
the excruciating realization
that the dog was leaving because
Dad was too.
Maybe someone can grasp
why I need to be numbed out with pain medicine
on the nights my parents' yelling is the loudest.
You see,
I'm addicted to the emptiness
that surrounds my fogged mind
and cushions my splitting soul.
I'm a masochist for craving
the pain that will make the hurt
of the real pain go away,
but no one knows that.
My cat takes the fall for
the evidence from my
forays into the land of silver
steel blades with edges that could
cut even the finest of silk and
not shred it.
At night when no one knows it,
it's just me and insomnia
ballroom dancing to soundless
music by the oven light,
cradling me to sleep with
endless thoughts of
absolutely nothing at all.
YOU ARE READING
Picking Up The Pieces
PoetryAn anthology of poems written by me. The uploads will be in 2 parts. The Before is part 1, and The During and The After will be part 2. This is the story of my recovery from PTSD, An Eating Disorder, and Sexual Assault.
