Long Trauma Poems
Long Trauma Poems. Below are the most popular long Trauma by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trauma poems by poem length and keyword.
All seasons come with grace and not all fall for them with grace,
Nurturing all they preserve,
What makes them different from among themselves,
We all are like seasons,different in all ways,
But commonality makes us alike,
We all must prevail,
But prevalence breaks when we try to interchange,or break the lines,
Escapism is like a ball of lines,
One which I can jump from new,old or unknown,
It enjoins the I from yesterday,today and tomorrow,
And we all are part of the lines,connected,
A space with hands outstretched to many self,
The self is a safe of trauma,loss,peace,war and beauty,
All within one thing;heart,mind body and soul:The self,
Preservation helps to make grow,
Containment keeps alive,
But longevity may break if they take too long,
Despair and joy to live is prolonged,
Life span is short no matter how long lived,
It still feels like a short period of time,
Like the span of a fly wandering,
Survival must persist,
Even if it doesn't wander,
Its span will always be short,
No matter how long it waits,
As its predator lurks from above,
In patience,resilience and hunger,
Life offers a lot of hands,
Among which are good and bad,
One must always seek to live,
Hands outstretched will either be good or bad,
One can't simply wait,
As the fly will reach its promised demise,
Life must go on.
This universal question
we unitingly share
about "God"
Whether I believe,
or not
Inviting some binary answer,
HopeFull or DespairEmpty
Yes or No, and not maybe,
True or False, and not sometimes agnostic ambivalence
Yet, integrity's dipolar co-arising equivalence?
Could also become a healthier question
about intuitive reception
of co-empathically felt peak spirited nature
Sacred passion
and organic pleasure
peace-filling trust experiences
Not restricted to cognitive perception,
verbal reflection
on co-passionately non-violent communication
Through verbally mindful words
about nonverbally grace-filled ways.
Perhaps "God" is an English-Christian proper noun,
for a multiculturally transformative verb
A religiously constructed map
exploring multigenerationally trusted
multicultural experiences
of safe and healthy sacred territory
Pointing to a deeper question
about organically spirited trust
and dispirited distrust
and in-between unspirited denatured mistrust
underlying peak co-empathic relationships
of sacredly organic hypostatic unions
opposing neurosystemic trauma histories
Mysteries conjoining
FatherSun's enlightening passion for Truth
EarthMother's empowering pleasure in trust
as humanely divine peace
that compassionately passes
crowning Sage either/or cognitive understanding
removed from
Muse-rooting polyvagal both/and neurosystemic feelings
Nonverbal
nonviolent
polyphonic resonant experiences
of co-empathic trust in emotive feelings
inviting co-passionate Truths
of Gaia's hypostatic
hypothetical
pronoia hypothesis
Warmly regarding
prehistoric questioning mysteries
Intuitively questing
God's recreative map
historic reconstruction
of trusted healthy neurosystemic opportunities
and actively distrusted
uneasy unhealthy unsafe risks
Inside this universal question
we unitingly quest
about Gaia's pronoia feelings
Stillness
stuckness of human nature longing
to EarthMother nature
belong
Whether we believe
in past peak transformative experiences
of profoundly compassionate trust
and/or unpeacefully
and unpleasantly
not so much.
I dread to read the headlines
They are so filled with strife
The tyranny and trauma
Has touched on every life.
What is it with us humans
We think we are supreme
We are but a corpuscle
It makes me want to scream.
We entertain the bull that’s plastered on the screen
We don’t need to be tolerant this
Borders on obscene.
They’re constantly painting pictures of things you must believe
There is a power struggle
Like none you’ve ever seen.
The west and east are at it
The far left and the right
The colour card is flashing red
It’s time to get off pitch
This power hungry game they’re playing
Democracy is fraying
Innocents they’re slaying
The devil is the puppeteer his pulling all the strings
Yet they think they are kings.
The trumpet call is coming.
With it the mighty horn
And Gods word and promise
Will remove from Earth this thorn.
I was only a child, when I learned there is good and evil in the world
Extensive trauma and threats were put upon me by many people
Silenced with my voice stolen, unable to speak without being hurt more
I watched death at the hands of these people, covered up by corruption
My resistance led to their increased force with many hurtful incidents
So, I made a promise to speak later, when I can do something about it
This promise was the seed for my inner will to survive everything happening
And as I grew so did this seed, into adulthood with courage to face them
I spoke truth, letting my voice be heard like no other day in my life
Of course they retaliated, but I knew if they silenced me again, they won
Stealing not only my voice but my soul, so I chose to persevere
I went in a direction they opposed, pursuing everything that I believe in
I used avenues of creativity to live to the fullest in every way that I could
I gave myself all that they couldn’t give me, comfort and safety
As I bloomed in my years of life, I spread beauty wherever I could
Knowing, there are so many others who carry a burden of pain from the past
The more I fell the more I stood, the more I was attacked, the more I fought
My will to survive strengthened every time and this is why I am still here
Broken promises lead to mistrust, my fulfilled promise led to empowerment
Heidi Sands
10/11/20
Placed 3rd in the Will to Survive Poetry Contest. Sponsor: Silent One
Written By: D. Collins 2/26/24
When I hear "a country of immigrants" I wince in pain.
Because one ethnic group traveled here in chains.
They didn't walk across the border seeking a better life.
They were snatched from bed, men, children, and wives.
Once they got to America they were sold off like beef.
A father to North Carolina, wife and kids to Mississippi.
Forced to work like a mule and bred with a new family.
Whipped, branded, and forced to practice Christianity.
Imagine the original slaves who were not yet programmed.
The trauma they suffered being snatched from their land.
On that initial voyage the slavers learned on-the-fly.
And, all subsequent trips, had it down to a science.
Anything after that, is "dotting" the "I's" of progress.
Including Tubman, Douglas, King, and Malcolm X.
I feel a kinship with the souls who made the first trip.
To let their story be told by someone knowing of it.
Warrior of Strength
Dealt a hand from the heavens, steeped in shadows’ embrace,
A warrior born from the ashes, a heart marked but not erased.
In the quiet corners of childhood, where innocence fades away,
Lurking specters, familiar faces, stole the light of day.
A father’s absence left echoes, a mother’s love turned cold,
In a world that turned its back, the silence grew bold.
At thirteen, trust shattered like glass underfoot,
Betrayed by hands once held dear, where darkness took root.
Fifteen came with a whisper, a dream turned to dread,
A boyfriend’s breath on my skin, the warmth now a thread.
A god brother's intrusion, steeped in violation,
A cacophony of trauma, a heart’s desperation.
Words like daggers, another fight,
Thirteen years of torment, where love lost its light.
A fragile baby cradled, in hope’s gentle hold,
Flickered and faded, a story untold.
Distance may dull some pains, but deceit’s blade cuts deep,
Manipulation’s shadow looms, even while I sleep.
Yet amidst this tempest, a flicker begins to glow,
A spirit forged in struggle, a strength only few know.
At thirty-seven, the weight still feels grim,
A new label emerges, like a fate turned dim.
But within every battle, every wound borne and faced,
A warrior is rising—each trial embraced.
When will this end? A question so raw,
But love does brew from the chaos we saw.
Through the valleys of sorrow, and the mountains of fear,
There’s a strength intertwined with the pain that brought tears.
So let the world see—the scars are my art,
A testament to resilience, a warrior’s heart.
For every hand dealt poorly, every burden I bear,
I rise from the ashes—I’ve grown stronger, I swear.
In the wreckage of hardships, my spirit reclaims,
The power of voice, the strength in my name.
Through the shadows that linger, through each twisted path,
I’ll wield my own story, embracing my wrath.
For in this new chapter, as I stand head held high,
I’m more than the battles, I’m the strength to defy.
With each breath a reminder, in the face of my plight,
I’m the warrior of strength, born from dark into light.
Inspired by my life so far. Always felt like I was dealt a bad hand but now I know I was dealt the warrior's hand now 38 years old, I now deal with one of the most painful mental disorders when will the pain stop.
The Act of Love
Voice 1 – Anger
Voice 2 – Love
Voice 3 – Trauma
Voice 4 – Reason
Voice 1: Why does this happen EVERY TIME?!
Voice 2: He didn’t mean it, you know we’ll be fine.
Voice 3: HA! FINE?! F-I-N-E… we all know what that means
right? (whisper, ed up, insecure, neurotic, emotional)
Voice 4: Just listen and do better… maybe stay out of sight.
Voice 2: I’ve never felt so safe, you know?
Voice 3: SAFE?? THIS is safe? you need to GO!
Voice 1: She’s right! Why stay? It’ll only get worse!
Voice 4: You need to focus on putting yourself first.
Voice 3: The hits will only get harder, but time will soften the
blows…
Voice 2: But he’s not what you think and I hate that nobody knows.
Voice 1: Knows WHAT? You dumb , you only stay ‘cause you’re
“stuck”!
Voice 4: There is way more to it than a woman just saying “enough.”
Voice 2: I swear he’s the one, I’ll prove it to you all,
he’s sweet and kind and never drops the ball.
Voice 1: He’s the epitome of evil, ya never “drops the ball,”
but would drop you in a heartbeat, on the first ring of a
call. (THUD!) WTF?!!
Voice 3: Just listen to them girl, we’ve all been here before,
I can’t take anymore hits, it’s not just my body that is sore…
Voice 4: Here lies the body of a girl too scared, too alone to reach
out anywhere.
A girl who knew but refused to see, blinded by narcissicity.
Her trauma and anger told her to leave, but sometimes we’re just too
naïve—our inner battles ending with defeat.
That is what her tombstone would say if she refused the help for
another day.
Voice 2: Ok I get it, I know what to do.
Voice 1: Finally ing let YOURSELF shine through?!
Voice 4: Guys, she’s doing it, she’s really leaving this time.
Voice 2: But we know she’ll be back, it’s like 10 pennies to a dime.
"When you carry your inner child with you,
you carry the joy but also the hurt. "
Quote by _Constance
The essence of
me, is my inner child trauma;
the hurt deep buried though I did have love,
but always, always drama.
That child within me feels unprotected at times,
and now the adult me writes sadness in my rhymes;
oh, I still feel frightened sometimes,
and see the child me- praying to the Lord above !
I see the child me,
playing with my dolls in the dark;
whispering, Lord, I want cookies and tea,
'cause mommy has gone berserk.
Lord can you call grandma- she will know what to do,
and then gran was there making me laugh with peekaboo;
I never forgot as I grew
the child within me alone in the dark and my fear and plea !
_____________________
September 3, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/That Child Within
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1386-467-03
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Your Inner Child
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke, Judged 09/13/2021
Second Place
Going chaotic commotion.
Peculiar evolution.
On evolution species are jumbled.
Running transformation being crumbled.
Just hesitating WasParrot,
whether to swallow Wasp or not ?
To WolFlamingo, Wolf suggests
not to fly but walk in forest.
Now OwLion is in dismal
Confused ! A bird or animal ?
Dog and Goose are turning DoGoose.
Identity: Which one to lose ?
WhalEagle doesn't know to decide,
to fly or sink in sea to hide !
TigeRobin singing sweet song :
Also roars loud showing tongue long.
For CaTortoise, it's hard to tell :
In land or sea ? where to dwell ?
KingfisheRabbit not confident:
Is it a bird or a rodent !
Bird or animal ? Which is true ?
For the species DucKangaroo.
SquirreLobster in great trauma :
To climb or swim , in dilemna.
Helpless SheePeacock to outrage
to offer wool or show plumage ?
a small position given in a place of chaos
perfect place to flourish and gain
hiding behind unhealed trauma and pain
playing a role as a trusted confidant
observing and collecting information
using deception as a comeuppance
leashing out unseen horrid inflictions
cashed out from many schemes
wanting to be center of attention
had no control of self or home
bullied words with strong tone
stole and hacked others devices
threw weight around literally
loud and over talking anyone
treating others as incompetent
deceiving self as a church girl
quoting bible scriptures with glee
book smart only no sense of self
dark magic were your only tools
creeping into dreams of others
playing out your sick fantasies
outer world was your inner world
spiritual incoherence left you empty
facing every insecurity harbored
your life was mirrored to you
others were fragments of yourself
instead of healing you overlooked
pointing out who you deemed weak
delivering out wrath as a judgement
hello you are not A GOD/GODDESS
not knowing you was destroying yourself
in the end you dug your own grave
May you befriend your shadow while the ego surrender
death and rebirth
Self love is the most beautiful way of life