Ptsd poetry anyone?

Mechanic

New Here
I’m thinking about titling this the love/caretaker poem. And I do love her. I love her very much!


If there is one thing that I know. It is that I love you so:
I must share in your pain.
Your past.
And your burden.

If there is one thing that I know. It is that I love you so:
I must listen.
I must listen.
I must share ideas.
I must help you cope.

Whether the bleeding will ever stop I don’t know, but I love you so:
I will always be here.
I will always love you.
Get some rest my dear. Tomorrow is a new day for us two.



I love you guys too.
 

TruthSeeker

MyPTSD Pro
I’m thinking about titling this the love/caretaker poem. And I do love her. I love her very much!


If there is one thing that I know. It is that I love you so:
I must share in your pain.
Your past.
And your burden.

If there is one thing that I know. It is that I love you so:
I must listen.
I must listen.
I must share ideas.
I must help you cope.

Whether the bleeding will ever stop I don’t know, but I love you so:
I will always be here.
I will always love you.
Get some rest my dear. Tomorrow is a new day for us two.



I love you guys too.
This is sweet.

Silent terror
Crushes me
I struggle
To breathe
There are
No words
To describe
The weight
On my soul
If I could
Only breathe
Maybe then
I could
Scream
For help
Maybe then
I could
Cry
Maybe then
I could
Describe
The pain
Instead
I lay here
Silent
Still
Unable
To breathe
Sorry you are hurting. Glad you could get it out.
 

HannaD

Not Active
I wrote this when dissociation was becoming a problem for me.

I don't know how long I've been standing there or how many times I've washed my hair.
When I pull myself from the memories, the what-ifs, the could've beens.
From memories to things that can only exist for from reality.
Even the weight of water can't rinse away this mire.
To purify my soul will destroy what's left of my being.

I have since gotten better and can focus more clearly (or more determinedly) now. Thanks for a place to share!
 
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Wonder Woman

MyPTSD Pro
I get a lot out of reading and writing poetry. I wrote this today......anyone else got a poem, some lines, a PTSD limerick, an ode, cute, sad, or funny? Usually, mine are a mix.

Here is my poetry I did today:

The Journey from Oz to Grandma's House

Suddenly............ I'm Dorothy,
Lost, alone with only green little weirdo people in a strange land hated by a crazy wicked witch,
Alone,
Afraid,
Confused,
Surviving,
Brain Damaged (from an accident involving a twister)
and I can't go back,
"I can, I can, I can move forward....follow the Yellow Brick Road and find my clan,
Then I will feel safe and at home,
Keep following the path.....keep walking....keep trying.....I'll find what I'm looking for....I have to," I say to myself encouragingly.

Suddenly......I'm the Gingerbread Man,
Racing down the Yellow Brick Road and terrified I'll be eaten alive,
Alone,
Scared,
Confused,
Totally paranoid from being followed by what I thought were hungry Munchkins,
Brain damaged, (my head didn't bake right in utero)
and I can't go back,
It's not safe,
"Dorothy's wrong.....no time for others....they aren't safe,
Just keep running, as fast as I can....trust no one,
Survival is the key," I tell myself.

Suddenly........I'm the Little Red Hen,
The sky is falling and I'm running hard, off to warn the King...save myself and the Kingdom,
Alone,
Afraid,
Confused,
Surviving,
Brain damaged (I think I had a TBI-something fell from the sky and hit my head-I'm not right),
I can't go back,
It's not safe,
"Trust no one, absolutely no one, "I think.
"Screw the King and the kingdom and hide inside, "I say to myself, "where it is safe."
So I run to my brick house and curl up in bed.

Suddenly........I'm an old, withered up, bitter and forgotten Grandma sitting in bed,
I hear a knock at the door then a mean wolf saunters in, grinning.
Alone,
Terrified,
Confused,
Still surviving,
Brain damaged (from long-term PTSD and a lot of other head injuries in life)
Nowhere left to go....but this is a real threat,
"I'm alone, what do I do?" I ask inside (a trick my T taught me)
The answer comes, "dissociate" and I do..........
then............................................
..................................................I die.

Alternate Ending:
Suddenly, I'm grandma all snuggled in my bed,
I hear a knock at the door then a mean wolf strides in, grinning.
He has many sharp-looking teeth,
Terrified,
Confused,
Grounded,
Neural network much more intact (years of therapy and hard work),
Nowhere to go,
I'm trapped,
I stand up and face the wolf as I ............tap, tap, tap my ruby slippers,
Zing........The Munchkins come. Blam......they kill the wolf,
They've been watching out for me all along.
I'm home.

Beautiful poetry. I especially love the alternate ending. Go Munchkins!

This poem is kinda geeky. .

I Wish I Could Service My Brain Like I Do My Computer

I wish I could service my brain like I do my computer.
Disable and remove the unwanted startup programs,
gone the flashbacks and bad dreams,
away with sleepless nights awaking everyday refreshed and smiling.

I wish I could service my brain like I do my computer,
Clean up and delete the old unnecessary system files,
gone the maladaptive coping skills,
away goes the fog and my need for so much isolation.

I wish I could service my brain like I do my computer.
Keep my system free of viruses and malware,
gone the insidious paranoia and worry,
away with insecurity and magically I blossom into a risk-taker.

I wish I could service my brain like I do my computer.
Upgrade to a newer operating system,
live in the present,
sleep with beautiful dreams of my future.

Love this poem. I'm a bit geeky, too, so... ?

And yes, it would be nice if we could service our brains like a computer. In a way though, we can by getting therapy, processing the trauma, and learning new skills. It just takes way more time (and work) than servicing a computer.

Silent terror
Crushes me
I struggle
To breathe
There are
No words
To describe
The weight
On my soul
If I could
Only breathe
Maybe then
I could
Scream
For help
Maybe then
I could
Cry
Maybe then
I could
Describe
The pain
Instead
I lay here
Silent
Still
Unable
To breathe

Tears...

Beautiful poetry. Wish I couldn't relate to it so well.

Sending you safe hugs. ?
 

WildWood

New Here
I wrote a poem this evening to my partner. I thought I'd put it here.
If anyone wants to know more about the ideas in it, I'm happy to respond. Maybe that way it could make sense to you too.

So you have an outline, I was amidst many deaths from crush asphyxia, young, old. We were, many of us, and once we had escaped the deadly area also the first responders. For our woes, we were then also blamed, senselessly, for the deaths. We have been vilified since, by some, 31 years of it now. Thus their "violent words" and "the lie". Anyway, here it is.

My anger is not hate
When too frustrated, I berate
When I berate I ventilate
The anger that is not hate

My violent words are not a part
Of a plan to destroy your heart
They are expressions of despair, my art
At the violent words they chose to impart

I am not mad I am disenthralled
From the trust that mothers installed
I am not wicked I am appalled
That we are deemed mad once disenthralled

I have seen and felt in death and destruction
A love that defies even holy instruction
It can be understood only in abstraction
Amidst scenes of death and destruction

I may scream in frustration till I die
That I am not heard and must abide by the lie
I have tried to free myself from the cry
That I will scream in frustration till I die.

When hope is gone and there seems no more love
I throw my arms to the unknown above
I hope you read the message from my holy dove
That my anger is not hate it is love
 

Changing4Best

MyPTSD Pro
Torment

Someone is behind me
I can sense it
I turned to look
But no one is there.
Panic engulfs me
Even more when
I try to convince myself
That what I see
Is the truth.
The mind is convinced
I look back again
No one again.
Huh! I walk faster
What's that noise?
I see something
It moves
But what it is
I don't know...
I see my door
I run for it
Fumble with keys
Frantically look behind me
Hear something
Maybe dry leaves?
I get the key in the lock
Inside at last
I lock the door.
I still feel like someone is watching
My every move.
 
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