#MightyPoets

A mother walks through fire, while giving birth to a life. Somewhere within that fire, another begins to rise - destined to light up the world but forced to dim, before it ever learns to shine. This is a story of one such fire.

Part I - Before the breaking

From the womb,
you move like the rivers
which love the ocean,
only to let the rivers' water
become one with the tears of earth.

From the womb,
you long for the home
you almost see.
Your tiny ripples
lets your home know,
you're here.

From the womb,
you push beyond
your tiny protective cage,
To finally experience
your home.
But the second you
step out your Haven,
the world steals your breath.

You are met with tears
even before you see your home.
The home around you smiles,
while some of your tears remain
choking in your throat,
reminding you of the journey,
behind.... and ahead.

"As a mother endures the pain to bring life into the world, the life within her quietly learns pain before it ever learns to breathe.”

Part II - Unwinged

Beyond the womb,
you are labelled before understood,
surrounded with layers
meant to protect,
but sharp enough to cut through the skin.
Always held,
never truly known.

Beyond the womb,
you dream to be free,
while the home you loved chains you
with control disguised as discipline,
with hatred disguised as criticism.

Yet you try to fly, oh dear one,
not knowing,
they've already unwinged you.
You aim for the limitless while
the sky reaches to confine you.

You can feel the hands
gripping around you,
voices no longer kind,
gazes narrowing your own.
You see the walls built around you
bruise your waters,
while the world
adores your grace.

It is no longer
the home,
you once loved - my love.
You now question yourself,
if it ever was.
You turn to the cosmos asking,
if it will ever become the home,
you once longed for.

My dear one,
you slowly surrender,
your rivers' water to
the oceans tears
once more - my love.

"The mother burns to give life-the child burns to become it."

#Trauma #PTSD #Parenting #Poetry #MightyPoets #Poem #Childhoodtrauma

This was born from a personal experience nd is dedicated to all the people who need it.

A mother walks through fire, while giving birth to a life. Somewhere within that fire, another begins to rise - destined to light up the world but forced to dim, before it ever learns to shine. This is a story of one such fire.

Part I - Before the breaking

From the womb,
you move like the rivers
which love the ocean,
only to let the rivers' water
become one with the tears of earth.

From the womb,
you long for the home
you almost see.
Your tiny ripples
lets your home know,
you're here.

From the womb,
you push beyond
your tiny protective cage,
To finally experience
your home.
But the second you
step out your Haven,
the world steals your breath.

You are met with tears
even before you see your home.
The home around you smiles,
while some of your tears remain
choking in your throat,
reminding you of the journey,
behind.... and ahead.

"As a mother endures the pain to bring life into the world, the life within her quietly learns pain before it ever learns to breathe.”

Part II - Unwinged

Beyond the womb,
you are labelled before understood,
surrounded with layers
meant to protect,
but sharp enough to cut through the skin.
Always held,
never truly known.

Beyond the womb,
you dream to be free,
while the home you loved chains you
with control disguised as discipline,
with hatred disguised as criticism.

Yet you try to fly, oh dear one,
not knowing,
they've already unwinged you.
You aim for the limitless while
the sky reaches to confine you.

You can feel the hands
gripping around you,
voices no longer kind,
gazes narrowing your own.
You see the walls built around you
bruise your waters,
while the world
adores your grace.

It is no longer
the home,
you once loved - my love.
You now question yourself,
if it ever was.
You turn to the cosmos asking,
if it will ever become the home,
you once longed for.

My dear one,
you slowly surrender,
your rivers' water to
the oceans tears
once more - my love.

"The mother burns to give life-the child burns to become it."

I write

I write the words that evoke the fantasy untamed

A world glowing in autumn, shimmering in the rain

I want you to know the depth of what I feel

But when I am not writing, I am not even real

And you will never return even a splinter of my esteem

Could you love me?, a childish fantasy.

I'm a mild child, come and love me

But I'm too polite to ask.

My heart spurned and exiled

Emotionally crippled, fading to black

I'm a mild child, come and hold me

As I fall apart, fading fast

My heart burned and broken

How many eons can this last?

Tell me

Tell me I am a nice guy, but we should just be friends

And I see you out on the town, laughing with other men

Your laughter, so musical, cuts me to the bone

You share it with everyone but the nice guy

Slogging through life alone

I'm a mild child, come and love me

But I'm smeared into the background

All hope dead and gone

Because I have no story of my own

I'm a mild child, come and touch me

My outline, fading, your fingers touching dust

Why couldn't I have been real for you?

If I had been real, could I have seen me, too?

This is a riff on the song "Wild Child" by W.A.S.P.

#Depression #Suicide #PTSD #Trauma #MentalHealth #Disability #MightyPoets

I could list my

Greatest strengths on a wall so

Plastered with my failures

That nothing else could be written.

I had only two sides

Failure and weakness

Only two dimensions

Peeling off the bricks.

A sunbeam blasted me out of my skin

And seared my shadow on the spaces

Between the surfaces I vandalized

When I existed,

My life an awkward graffiti.

I achieved ugly because beauty

Was beyond me.

My life falls off the bricks like scabs

From the half healed burns of my spirit

Photographed, numb and frozen forever

The traces, mute and weathered

Of failure upon failure upon failure

Until I had to slough off so much

Of myself to stop hurting

That two dimensions would hold me.

My portrait

Not oil on canvas

But a still life etched in rejection

Fading into a non bearing wall

If it fell it would not matter

If I had lived it would not matter.

Because living reduces us to a point

The nail that held the portraits of the worthy

Or the pinprick I will occupy

When I shed the rest of me

My pain will die in silence

When I am too weak to feel

Anything anymore.

#Depression #Suicide #Trauma #PTSD #MentalHealth #Disability #MightyPoets

I could list my

Greatest strengths on a wall so

Plastered with my failures

That nothing else could be written.

I had only two sides

Failure and weakness

Only two dimensions

Peeling off the bricks.

A sunbeam blasted me out of my skin

And seared my shadow on the spaces

Between the surfaces I vandalized

When I existed,

My life an awkward graffiti.

I achieved ugly because beauty

Was beyond me.

My life falls off the bricks like scabs

From the half healed burns of my spirit

Photographed, numb and frozen forever

The traces, mute and weathered

Of failure upon failure upon failure

Until I had to slough off so much

Of myself to stop hurting

That two dimensions would hold me.

My portrait

Not oil on canvas

But a still life etched in rejection

Fading into a non bearing wall

If it fell it would not matter

If I had lived it would not matter.

Because living reduces us to a point

The nail that held the portraits of the worthy

Or the pinprick I will occupy

When I shed the rest of me

My pain will die in silence

When I am too weak to feel

Anything anymore.

#Depression #Trauma #PTSD #Suicide #MentalHealth #Disability #MightyPoets

I could list my

Greatest strengths on a wall so

Plastered with my failures

That nothing else could be written.

I had only two sides

Failure and weakness

Only two dimensions

Peeling off the bricks.

A sunbeam blasted me out of my skin

And seared my shadow on the spaces

Between the surfaces I vandalized

When I existed,

My life an awkward graffiti.

I achieved ugly because beauty

Was beyond me.

My life falls off the bricks like scabs

From the half healed burns of my spirit

Photographed, numb and frozen forever

The traces, mute and weathered

Of failure upon failure upon failure

Until I had to slough off so much

Of myself to stop hurting

That two dimensions would hold me.

My portrait

Not oil on canvas

But a still life etched in rejection

Fading into a non bearing wall

If it fell it would not matter

If I had lived it would not matter.

Because living reduces us to a point

The nail that held the portraits of the worthy

Or the pinprick I will occupy

When I shed the rest of me

My pain will die in silence

When I am too weak to feel

Anything anymore.

#Depression #Suicide #Trauma #PTSD #MentalHealth #Disability #MightyPoets