Flash back

I can still feel the freshness
Of the fabric on your jacket.
While caressing each other
And holding tight,

I can still feel the humiliation,
When you left me.
With no respect
Treating me like
Some prickly animal
To be disposed of.

After all these years,
I'm still writing poems about you.

Flower Patch

As a child, I planted a popcorn seed,
in the middle of my mother's flower patch.
With sunshine and water,
the point of a leaf broke through the soil.
Thriving it grew, green, tall, and ugly,
Among the iris, the pansies, and the mums,
an embarrassment to the garden.
Mom said it had to go.
I plead for the life of my popcorn plant.
I had nurtured and watched it grow.
Spare my plant I begged.
It too has a soul.

Feelings

A philodendron
Sits perfectly still
By the window,
Soaking in the sun
taken care of
Unable to express gratitude
for the sunshine and
A taste of water.

Look Inside

While you're looking from the outside,
I look back at you from within,
totally oblivious of how I appear,
I know what I feel,
but don't pretend to understand
Expressing my feelings,
an urge
Needing someone to hear me
and to know
I am not an illness,
I am a person
A real person with feelings
A lovable, humble soul.

Get Over It

You've told us,

so forget about it

My story is hard to listen to.

Difficult to share,

Like being on fire

and people looking away 

to escape the sight

of my chard body.

The pain and agony

is mine to bare.

Yours to care.

Immersed

The frigid air is foggy,
Dirt sticking
on my body and soul
The world is
a dirty window,
I cannot see,
Needing to be washed,
Dunked and
totally immersed,
in pure clean water.
Bringing daylight,
Fresh, clear, and bright.

Free

Pushing, forcing,
radiating cold, and bitterness.
You need to harm and control.

I lie here bruised, and battered
Limp is my soul,
hanging out to dry

I feel the stabbing beam
from your evil eyes.
The smirk on your face
will be your demise

Imprisoned, restrained,
lock your demons inside
Unable to hurt again.
I am free

Present Traumatic Stress

Present traumatic stress, creates
Post traumatic stress,
Stabbing and stabbing,
Pushing the knife in
and pulling it out.
Blood erupting,
Squirting red,
Robbing me of my energy.
My post traumatic stress,
remnants from my survival.

Mental Illness Is

Dark, cold, yet burning
Freagments of thoughts
scattered.
Evil words and obsessions,
Everything confusing,
Dangerous, numb. alone.
The end of a life
Never born.