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- #913
mumstheword
VIP Member
My child's pain is like a freight train, baring down on me;
loaded with so much cargo, it can't slow, it's weighed down with baggage,
life's been savage.
We journey up hills, watching wallabies, dispelling fallacies, with much glee, coz you see, I never could talk to my mummy, at all.
Talking, is like the train pulling into the station, it lightens itself, as it offloads, what it needs to, at that destination.
The journey continues; it sinews, snakes and stretches, long.
We must stay strong and keep on moving.
Travelling into the night, baring all the baggage, straining and moving, grinding on tracks that stay on grooves that move towards our goals, gaining ground but carrying a heavy, heavy cargo.
Slowly, slowly, we gain ground and can unpack the load; the weight is gradually removed and our nervous systems soothed with good food and inner treasures and treats and passions and pertinent pleasurable practices, but, it grinds on tracks that must lead back over ground that's been gone over a million times before.
Back and forth, it's repetative and the grooves make tracks in our brain, leading back to the start, and going over and over the ground that was covered before.
The baggage dictates the direction and the tracks have been laid long before this train was even made and loaded, coz it's traumatic and emphatically undesirable to be raped and abused as a child, to be tainted and tarred with the brush of disdain and to have one's child defiled also.
My heart breaks and I wish this train would change tracks and begin a new route, that suits us much more. Our core is forever changed and slightly deranged as our brain's neural network was set on this course by force and lack of agency and tragedy.
I want to see new sights and horizons and different landscapes and tracks laid that leads to new ground and new lands that transform and transcend those old grooves and trails and steel rails that go round and round and round, so heavily.
loaded with so much cargo, it can't slow, it's weighed down with baggage,
life's been savage.
We journey up hills, watching wallabies, dispelling fallacies, with much glee, coz you see, I never could talk to my mummy, at all.
Talking, is like the train pulling into the station, it lightens itself, as it offloads, what it needs to, at that destination.
The journey continues; it sinews, snakes and stretches, long.
We must stay strong and keep on moving.
Travelling into the night, baring all the baggage, straining and moving, grinding on tracks that stay on grooves that move towards our goals, gaining ground but carrying a heavy, heavy cargo.
Slowly, slowly, we gain ground and can unpack the load; the weight is gradually removed and our nervous systems soothed with good food and inner treasures and treats and passions and pertinent pleasurable practices, but, it grinds on tracks that must lead back over ground that's been gone over a million times before.
Back and forth, it's repetative and the grooves make tracks in our brain, leading back to the start, and going over and over the ground that was covered before.
The baggage dictates the direction and the tracks have been laid long before this train was even made and loaded, coz it's traumatic and emphatically undesirable to be raped and abused as a child, to be tainted and tarred with the brush of disdain and to have one's child defiled also.
My heart breaks and I wish this train would change tracks and begin a new route, that suits us much more. Our core is forever changed and slightly deranged as our brain's neural network was set on this course by force and lack of agency and tragedy.
I want to see new sights and horizons and different landscapes and tracks laid that leads to new ground and new lands that transform and transcend those old grooves and trails and steel rails that go round and round and round, so heavily.
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