Long Ptsd Poems
Long Ptsd Poems. Below are the most popular long Ptsd by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ptsd poems by poem length and keyword.
Ince St. Child
by Michael R. Burch
When she was a child
in a dark forest of fear,
imagination cast its strange light
into secret places,
scattering traces
of illumination so bright,
years later, she could still find them there,
their light undefiled.
When she was young,
the shafted light of her dreams
shone on her uplifted face
as she prayed . . .
though she strayed
into a night fallen like woven lace
shrouding the forest of screams,
her faith led her home.
Now she is old
and the light that was flame
is a slow-dying ember . . .
what she felt then
she would explain;
she would if she could only remember
that forest of shame,
faith beaten like gold.
This was an unusual poem, written in my youth, and it took me some time to figure out who the old woman was. She was a victim of childhood incest, hence the title I eventually came up with. Keywords/Tags: Sexual Abuse, Child Abuse, Pedophilia, Depravity, Betrayal, Shame, Humiliation, Evil, Family, Innocence, Childhood, Girl, Memory, Memories, Repressed Memories, PTSD, Shock, Shell Shock
The food was indeed, Greek.
My first Greek Frappe!
A most divine, heavenly treat.
Gods must have created this.
So far beyond good!
In gigantic glasses,with ice chips.
It was as good as an Ouzo on the rocks!
The Festival on Saturday was terribly
overcrowded,
I wanted to leave,before it started.
Fashion in the USA,no kidding has truly
grown retarded!
I like seeing men as men, not dressed as
obese 13 year old boys, sporting baseball
caps.
And the beauty of women?
Tossed away like toys, now women
only dress as boys?
My years are catching up with me,
I must hearedtdly admit.
I wanted to run from an American
culture that is so far from fashion
phenomenally adrift!
Like buffalo we were overcome with
the most fashionably unfit.
I sat with my daughter drinking a
Frappe.
And my only thought was how soon
and how fast we could get away!
I lost my appetite to eat with American
bisons!
With god-ugly toes jutting out of
cheap, plastic flip-flops.
Fat leaping out of obnoxious holes on
jeans of 300 pound women?
Ah, kill me now and let me go to
heaven!
I lost my appetite to eat midst this
hellish plethora of dirty feet.
And hair from hell to top off this
ungodly, human feat.
Then came beautiful girls, their
arms skewed with tattoos so ugly.
My desire to escape hit me much
more than suddenly.
I did have a Pastitsio, that was
yummy!
Just had to keep my eyes off the
volcanic, bulging tummies.
Thank goodness there were not
many children there!
Their mothers, the size of German
tanks would have squashed them
into instant mummies!
I did buy an icon of Christos and
Panayiota holding her child
Both in a carved wooden case.
Now this brought a smile to my
face!
And a turquoise evil-eye bracelet
with crystals, to ward off any
future toe and bison disgrace!
Greek bread we brought to take
home.
I swore up and down to never
leave my home, to roam.
Greek cookies, Kourabiedes,
and Greek bread, seemed to
calm my confused head.
Perhaps, going on a Saturday
was the worst possible choice.
Maybe I can go blindfolded next
year and hush my voice?
Or not go at all?
Still have PTSD, after what I
always previously I experienced
as a yearly treat.
It once was like going to a ball!
September 10, 2029
The attendees were not Greeks.
Form:
Your avoidance attachment
In such denial of it
Placing blame on everything else
Blaming me making feel like I’m not ever going to be enough
Slapping my love right in front of my face
Like the abuse-
you’re taking it out on me
I had nothing to do with it
I gave all my love and more
I was selfless in my heart to you
I held onto hope-
that’s just me
I prayed often for the pain to go away, for you
My love wasn’t enough to erase the traumas
I couldn’t control it
I could only Hope
I still have Hope
Hope is what I cling to
If you can’t see the pattern
PTSD from October
It’s not from Halloween
Go get ing Help
So Hope can survive
GOD, knows!
Save your soul
Enough living in pain
My Love, go get ing Help
Stop the cycle
Stop the cycle
It hurts to see it
It comes out viciously attacking and destroying the love
You had someone so beautifully special in your heart
You gave that all up
For-
Avoidance attachment style
Show me the love for yourself and me
I am not good memories
I am not very kind
I am your history
Stuck in your mind
If you let me break you I must
Turn your life into dust
For I am your past etched into your brain
I will play back again and again
When you are low and cannot really think
I will appear try and make you sink
When I have you in my beastly net
Make it harder for help to get
I know your pride won't let you talk
From me I know you just can't walk
Because if you did you would feel shame
That is why I would win this game
Who am I ? I hear you ask
I'm on your face I am your mask
I've had many names but I can't die
My newest one is PTSI
It's not just military I do this too
It's anybody who let's me even you
Everyone has a visit from me
In times of trauma or catastrophe
If this event hapoens in your time
I will help you now in this rhyme
You must talk about your experience
Then you will grow in confidence
If you are strong I cannot win
All bad thoughts go in the bin
A close network of friends will help with that
Talking laughing having a chat
Try and stay away from the pills
As this could lead to just more bills
Causing more stress and worry
Stay strong seek help their is no hurry
I will always be there to try again
So again stay strong fight your pain
You don't want me in your life
As I said I only cause strife
Signed PTSI/PTSD??
Hanging out at Santa Monica Pier,
wining in dixie cups, dancing in the sand.
Chants of drink…drink…drink.
I took no time to think…think…think.
I wake up with a cacophonous surf,
unlike the gentle roar of a seashell,
and my head pounds, my eyes barf
in the light bright of dawn’s scarf.
Where am I, I wonder…how did I…
Asleep around me, are surfboards.
The breakers bound an “Aloha.”
When did I leave Santa Monica?
No suitcase with me. Still in my bikini.
Did none come with me? Am I dreaming?
I hear those chants of drink…drink…drink.
Why’d I take no time to think…think…think
I’d have felt bare, but girls galore arrive
with itsy bitsy teeny weeny suits.*
I have to broach the subject with hot breath.
They won’t believe me; my pride’s death.
They giggle and say, “We are having the same dream!”
Here we party in Waikiki with tropical sips.
Chants ring out, drink…drink…drink
I take no time to think…think…think
I wake up on a beach at Santa Monica Pier.
The rounds of dreams, unreal, a bit upset.
I’d hoped to tour the Pacific Island of Oahu.
Instead I quip, “ What..where..why..when..who?
I hear those chants of drink…drink…drink
I won’t fall for the same PTSD prank.
This time I run into the California waters.
Taken by a shark - with no sons or daughters.
I, Too, Sing America (and did so in my diapers!)
by Michael R. Burch
I, too, served my country,
first as a tyke, then as a toddler, later as a rambunctious boy,
growing up on military bases around the world,
making friends only to leave them,
saluting the flag through veils of tears,
time and time again ...
In defense of my country,
I too did my awesome duty –
cursing the Communists,
confronting Them in backyard battles where They slunk around disguised as my sniggling Sisters,
while always demonstrating the immense courage
to start my small life over and over again
whenever Uncle Sam called ...
Building and rebuilding my shattered psyche,
such as it was,
dealing with PTSD (preschool traumatic stress disorder)
without the adornments of medals, ribbons or epaulets,
serving without pay,
following my father’s gruffly barked orders,
however ill-advised ...
A true warrior!
Will you salute me?
I hope my “small” attempt at humor will help readers remember the sacrifices made by the spouses, children and extended families of our valiant servicemen and women. It was not easy making friends only to lose them, time and time again, as I grew up a “military brat” on American air bases around the globe. I really did make sacrifices for my country, while winning every battle against the “communists” in our back yard.
Keywords/Tags: Memorial Day, military brat, service, war, duty, honor, heroism, soldiers, army, navy, air force, marines, child, childhood, children
Depression is not treated by putting on lip stick
you stand in the mirror and put on the tears snot
drooling in your mouth behind the curtains awaiting
to go out on stage and face an eager audience depression
stings like a bee you painfully feel it you can't hide by journaling
writing poetry being clinically depressed takes constant
medication to control the chemical imbalance inside the brain
every brain in different although everyone gets sad it's a human
emotion being depressed for life is a cancer that has to be
treated professionally or the consequences can be very fatal
millions die every year from suicide sadly homicidal suicides
no one should encourage anyone in such a state to just write
a book glamorize depression this euphoric thinking results
in suicide notes and suicide planning this can be a dangerous
ticking time bomb without medication why all suicide notes are
poetic lyrics mental health ptsd are not a greatest hit anyone
I mean anyone in such a state needs to put down the lipstick
put down the pen stop typing suicide notes do yourself a favor
and make that call I did thirty years ago I am still taking
medication in therapy and writing poetry I'm alive I survived
my own suicide many are not alive to tell their story or just
write poetry or publish a book don't be a deadline the greatest
poets are read only after death don't make your suicide note
a greatest hit on your own life save yourself save someone you
love get help stay own your meds clock is a ticking notebook
by: mrs yolanda joy nicholsen
written 2-14-2024 2:07 am.
valentines day.
In loving memory of Virginia Woolfe
Please bear with me. I am processing all this. Probably through some PTSD.
My only way to process this, is to write
It has been such a long, ongoing fight
I remember April 7th, the sudden tiredness that hit
I was afraid I wouldn't wake up, if I closed my eyes a bit
The fever went on for days, which I usually don't get
I kept telling myself to try healthy things, move and not fret
Then after 7 days, the breathing problem, it came
After that, nothing was quite the same
I was in an ambulance, speeding in a flash
Even though I couldn't breathe, I thought we would crash
The fever was spiking and I remember the reaction of the men
We got to the hospital fast in morning, but I can't remember when
I was put on oxygen and my heart wasn't doing well
I was moved to isolation for the night, what would happen I couldn't tell
Noises from the room next to me, were ventilators I was told
Nurses sent messages from my heart monitor to ICU, but I'm not old
Medical workers had helmets on with fans inside
They couldn't hear me well, my tears seemed withheld not cried
I was only relieved that I could breathe, hoping I'd be alright
But I didn't sleep for the entire night
The most important part of all this, were prayers from people who care!
Helping me through it all, prayers coming from everywhere
I may still have issues lingering, breathing, chest pain, tiredness still
But I do still have fight left and I do have strong will
I am grateful for every single person, who showed kindness to me
I will be forever grateful, please know this, coming from me!
Heidi Sands
4/25/20
MY VIETNAM VETERAN HUSBAND AND I RETURNED HOME TO A HORROR INTRUDERS PICKING OUR LOCKS RIPPING PAGES AGAIN AN ONGOING 23 YEAR HEIST FIR DOCUMENTS MILITARY IMMUNIZATION RECORDS OF MY KIDS THE DAYS I WORE WIRES PREGNANT FOR THE FBI I WOUKD OFTEN TAKE THE KIDS TO GET SHOTS BEING IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER SCHOOL FBI RECEIPTS ARLINGTON HEIGHTS FIELD OFFICE ALONG WITH MY CHILDREN SHOT RECORDS MARRIAGE CERTIFICATES THIS STALKER PICKS THE LOCK WITH BROKEN HANGERS FINALLY OPENS OUR MILITARY TRUNKS AND BEGAN GOING THROUGH CLASSIFIED DOCUMENTS UNAUTHORIZED DOCUMENTS IN OUR HOME BLESSING SHE GOT A BAD CUT WHILE HANDLED MEDICAL RECORDS FROM 1966 LEAVING BLOOD STAINS FINALLY PLACING STICKERS ON PAGES DOCUMENTS MY HUSBAND AND I BOTH SUFFER FROM PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY WE ARE VERY DRAINS AFRAID AT TIMES SHE ACTUALLY POINTED AN ASSAULT RIFLE FROM ACROSS THE STREET RED DOTS BEAMING IN OUR WINDOW IDENTITY FRAUD IS A HORRID THING WITH DATA BREACHES THESE THIEVES PULL HOME INVASIONS HEIST UPON MILITARY FAMILIES THE SMELL OF HER BLOOD TOXIC SADNESS THAT VIETNAM VETERANS FAMILIES WE SPEND OUR LIFE PLANTING FLOWERS PLANTING TREES PAINTING BRICKS FOR THE FALLEN LINING OUR HOME WITH FAITH CHARITY MOST OF THESE IS LOVE THE LOVE OF GIVING GODS EARTH I ADORE WATCHING THE TREES SWAY WITH THE FLAG WAVING WE ARE AMERICAN I REALIZE IT'S CIRO GARGANO ANGRY BITTER ALL THESE YEARS TERRORISTS THREATS ATTEMPTS TO EXTORT BLACKMAIL MILITARY FAMILIES MY PRAYERS ARE WITH THIS DEADLY TERROR REMINDING ME OF WITNESSING THE MURDER OF RASTA ANDREW HIS BLOOD STAINED MY DOORWAY HE ARRIVED WAVING HIS GUN TO MURDER ME BY GODS GRACE HE WAS KILLED BEFORE HE KILLED ME MY STALKERS IS HIS LONGTIME GIRL FRIEND TONI HER DAUGHTER JAY TOWNSEND JOHNSON HENRY JAMAICAN DEALERS DANITA DELMONT AGENT TALISHA SHAW ALICIA HILTON KIWANI BUGGS LEAVING BLOOD STAINS BEHIND ON OUR FLAGS AND PAINTED BRICKS FOR THE FALLEN GOD BLESS AMERICA
WEARING WIRES PREGNANT BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FOR THE FBI FROM JUNK SICK OFFICERS QUITE SCARY IN ITSELF YOU ALWAYS KNOW IN THE BACK OF YOUR MIND THAT YOU'RE A WORTHLESS RAT TO BE EXPOSED BY KILLERS ENVY RAGE EVEN JEALOUS BEINGS ACTUALLY WANTING TO BE YOU WHEN THIS OCCURS IMPOSTERS EXPOSE YOUR IDENTITY TO THE ACTUAL KILLERS AWAITING YOUR DEATH LAUGHING TAUNTING WATCHING YOU PANT FOR YOUR LIFE THESE ARE LOW LIFE INDIVIDUALS DESPERATE WITH NO LIFE OTHER THAN EXPOSING YOU TO DEATH AN UNTIMELY DEATH YOU SURVIVED OVER AND OVER AGAIN THEY LAY WAITING DRIVING HYUNDAI VEHICLES PERPUTRATING FRAUD UPON THE REAL FBI INFORMANT YOUR DEATH IS BEING PLOTTED PLANNED YOU ARE FORCED TO CONTINUE WORKING UNDERCOVER AS AN INFORMANT TO STAY ALIVE UNTIL YOUR IMPOSTER IS THE ONE THE KILLERS FINALLY KILLS IN YOUR PLACE THEN AND ONLY THEN DO YOU BEGAN TO HEAL SURVIVING BEING AN FBI INFORMANT FROM CHICAGO MEANWHILE YOUR IMPOSTER CONTINUES IMPERSONATING YOU STIRRING UP STRIFE PLACING YOU ON THE FRONTLINE TO BE MURDERED YOU WATCH CARS PILE UP HYUNDAI FLIPPING INTO DITCHES DODGES RAMS AND FORDS FINALLY DYING RIGHT AT YOUR FEET YOU UNDERSTAND THIS IS A BLESSING FROM GOD YOUR KILLERS DIE AT YOUR FEET YOU STAND YOU PRAY AND TRY NOT TO EXPOSE YOUR SOURCES LOOKING OVER YOUR SHOULDERS SLEEPING AWAKE PTSD PANIC ATTACKS IRREGULAR HEART BEATS UNCONTROLLABLE FAINTING NARCOLEPSY DAYTIME SLEEP APNEA TRAUMA RELIVING TRAUMATIC EVENTS AWAITING THE DEATH OF YOUR KILLERS THATS YOUR SAFE PLACE FUNNY RIGHT GOD BLESS THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION AND GOD BLESS AMERICA