Trauma: The Truth

Trauma is not romantic.

Trauma is not some blemish that disappears with time.

Trauma is the scars on my arms that will remain on my body

forever,

A constant reminder of the tears, pain, blood, and abuse

I have seen.

We're told time heals all,

And we can overcome our trauma.

But when do we hear the truth?

The hard truth.

Trauma does not heal.

It does not disappear and decide one day to never rear its

ugly head again.

It may fall silent,

But it will be heard again,

Screaming,

Once again marking your soul.

Staining your aura, and bloodying your dreams.

When do we hear about the lasting effects?

Like how trusting feels like you are a soldier of Troy,

And everyone around you is a Trojan horse,

Hiding the enemy inside.

How letting someone in feels like opening the door of your

home to the stranger that claims their car broke down and

they're in need of a phone in a horror movie.

How words sound like lies,

Slithering like snakes from mouths into ears.

How falling asleep

Feels like jumping into purgatory to be tormented with

memories and scenes of your own life you wish to forget but

never will.

Trauma is ugly.

Trauma is wishing to have amnesia so you do not have to

remember your own life.

Trauma is a panic attack at 2 a.m. asking a God you do not

believe in to make it stop,

And then asking every other god you have heard of for the

same favor,

And receiving no reply.

Trauma is hopelessness.

We are told to give people the benefit of the doubt,

To learn to trust again.

But the only thing worse than trauma,

Is trying to see the world through rose colored glasses after

it is a part of you.

You let the Trojan horses into your gates,

And they leave behind destruction and devastation and the

wreckage of your soul.

You allow the strangers into your home,

And your last breath is with their knife on your neck.

The snakes of words turn to flowered vines that grow thickly

over your windows and turn your world black.

You pretend that falling asleep is like bungee jumping,

And your cord breaks.

The only thing worse than trusting nothing,

Is trusting everything.

You allow strangers into your heart because you believe,

And they tear you apart like they are wolves and you are but

a terrified, timid deer.

Shredding your flesh,

Breaking your bones,

Breaking your bones,

Ignoring your cries.

And when they have gotten all they can from you,

They return to their dens,

Full and satisfied while your corpse lies barren in an open

field.

I am the deer.

They are the wolves.

And I will not allow myself to be prey any longer.