Childhood Trauma Poems | Examples
These Childhood Trauma poems are examples of Trauma poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Trauma Childhood poems written by international poets.
It was a ghostly orb
obscured by smog—
glowing faintly yellow
at the center and fading
to amber,
then ochre,
raw sienna,
and finally umber—
as if the light itself
were turning into smoke—
and I couldn’t breathe.
Even my crib was hazy
beneath the poisonous
congregation of vapors
roiling and swirling
near the ceiling
and descending lower,
like tornado clouds, brown and black—
and I wondered
where was my dad.
Maybe he heard me coughing,
or finally noticed the smoke—
a yellow rectangle appeared
with him silhouetted within,
but I was already drifting
and woke up somewhere else.
Years later, in a field at night,
I saw a lamp post glowing
in the distance—
soft-edged, haloed,
as if blurred by breath or memory.
I didn’t think of the nursery,
not then—
but something in me paused,
and recognized the shape of despair.
A bedroom door that never locked,
Footsteps heavy like thunderclocks,
Mother's wine glass, cracked and red,
Words that bruised more than fists ever did.
A closet full of whispered screams,
Apologies lost in fevered dreams,
Father's belt, a sermon preached,
Love, a language never reached.
A dog buried in silence deep,
Secrets traded instead of sleep,
Schoolyard eyes like hunting knives,
Laughter echoing butchered lives.
The smell of ash, of plastic burned,
Lessons no one else had learned,
The joy of breaking dolls in two,
Just to feel a shadow move.
Windows rattled by unseen guilt,
Churches built where lies were spilt,
A hand too firm, a voice too loud,
Praise withheld like poisoned shrouds.
The grin he wore was not his own,
But stitched from pain he’d never shown,
And in the attic of his skull,
He catalogued what makes life dull.
Not born of hell, nor born insane,
But carved by years of steady pain—
And now the world must guess his name.
That kid at eleven before his first kiss
is the kid that I really, really miss.
Every kid thereafter
was more tears than laughter,
molding the world-weary cynic that this old man now is.
they walk among us,
slipping through cracks in the drywall of laws,
hidden in neighborhoods where swings creak empty.
their eyes,
like needles,
threading innocence with ruin.
you see them in grocery aisles,
behind polite smiles,
a rotting core in a skin of civility.
justice comes late, or never at all.
the system's gears
grind slow,
while childhood crumbles
in a landfill of stolen nights.
the world lets them crawl on,
unnoticed,
like termites,
until the house falls apart exposing
the skeletal remains in the basement.
You senselessly hurt me,
Then, demand I do not cry.
You frustrate me,
Then, unsympathetically, punish my display of anger.
You ridicule me,
Then, taunt me when I strive to win your approval.
You swear long-standing tribal love and protection,
Then, crush my small, unprotected heart with indifference.
You set impossible goals,
Then, painstakingly dismantle my ego.
You demonstrate blatant distain,
Then, draw me inside your dark, secret circle.
You demand the obscene use of my disempowered sheath,
Then, discard the confused Soul indwelling.
Who taught you how to love on the Dark Side?
Were you not once also a child,
Alone, and frightened in the whispering darkness?
Did you not once also smile, laugh and sing?
Who taught you to hide your innocence,
In the filmy guise of unrequited bravery?
A young female child cries hauntingly,
In the background of my dreams.
If children learn what they live,
Who taught you to love on the Dark Side?
Chula Fleming© 10/16 2016
I see their vain eyes, their large soulless eyes,
that glower and twist and torture thy soul.
I feel their tough hands, oft wrapped round my throat,
and find myself choke, choke, choke, choke and choke.
Why can’t they leave me? Why are they still here?
Tethered in my mind’s eye, they cling to me.
And oh - how they just scream, and scream, and scream,
their endless battle-cry, my mind so worn.
Ne’er comes the silence of which my soul longs,
to abide in stillness, where nil is wrong.
07/16/2024
I've always been described as mature,
yet not many know I grew up too fast,
for trauma broke an innocent girl,
her innocence,
her happiness.
Shut behind the door,believing in kinship
Forenoon the scars on mother paraylzed me
Every knife calling out as a saviour
The smiles seem a distant dream
Goblins dreams turned into a hell fire
Each passing day brought a despondent
Childhood poems swinged towards bruises..
Trauma doesn't make you stronger
Mine broke me
Beat me to the ground
Left me bleeding out
How could I still breathe
How could I wake up in the morning
My trauma is a warning
That will affect my performing
Singing is what helped me
My family agreeing
The trauma would disagree
Making fun of me
I needed a way out
I was drowning myself
Only one thing could help
Remembering my past self
The little girl by herself
reading from the bookshelf
She dreamed of getting help
She's who I strive to be
Happy and free
My trauma doesn't define me
So many earths to unearth....
worlds that define my history
like a geological time capsule;
you see,
I hid them from seas
of terror
in a world of fear.
I shoveled them down
for years,
until I forgot how they look like.
Sometimes I exhume them
for remembrance,
only to crowd my mind
with unnecessary mess
all over again......
The lump in my throat compelled me to believe.
that once there was a time of festiveness,
which has now turned into a vicious rhythm.
The unrealized desires are reduced to tears,
where the laughter of childhood turned into subdued smiles.
The severance of your own begetter,
aches just like dry spells in a well-plowed field.
One's good spirits become a cage of gloom for the other.
They thought they were emancipating, but who knew they were culminating in something that hadn't even commenced yet.
To all the kids that had it rough
That when you were behind your home's walls, things got tough
Hearing your parent's screams bounce off the walls.
Listening through the cracks, their spiteful words making you fall
To all the kids that love the most
Even though they weren't given an example at home
Seeing shattered plates and broken bones
You couldn't tell anyone, you were so alone
To all the oldest siblings that had to be strong
and shield your younger siblings from the terrors on your home turf
You didn't even get to be a child
At a young age, you were no longer naive and in denial
To all the kids that remembered everything
All the scars inflicted and all the tears shed
All your screams and cries are muffled by the pillow in your bed.
All the words you wanted to shout out but were left unsaid.
I am so sorry for what you went through you didn't deserve it the least.
You were only a child supposed to have good memories within reach
But what was exposed to our fragile bodies and mind
Might haunt you till the end of time.
my family tree haunts me,
a imagine i’ve held since a child.
unable to escape and become your own,
stuck in toxic love to only find out it was wrong.
breaking free has become truly whole,
i found love, that healed my soul.
showing me no pain and no harm,
to find out i was raised wrong all along.
Born broken into a world that isn't whole. Taking the remedies that are supposed to "glue your sanity", to your God forsaken soul. Went through groups to find comfort within, but the tools that were taught eventually were used towards your own destruction. Gaining new insights about yourself. Slowly coming to the delusion everything is OK, so just put the crazy on the shelf. That cycle has clearly not been treating you so well. You seem to be manifesting the childhood trauma you placed on that shelf. All of the setting aside is seeping and creating your own personal hell, one for only you to reside and dwell. I hope this time you can find a good seat, so you can take the time and make friends with your childhood misery. Encourage healing for your mind. Stop sticking things in places that one day you eventually find. Deal with the pain that's brewing inside. Your little girl will thank you and future you will smile from ear to ear.
When I was young, I was too good at hiding pain
That's why they assumed I never hurt
And they went on to throw more blows at me
Cause that's how they were dealing with their pain
I'd smile like the good boy I was
Thinking that somehow I was doing good
Only to realise year's later
That it's left many scars that I can't just heal
Now when I show some pain
I'm seen a weaklin thats why they go as far as,
saying that I caused it to myself
Everyone washing their hands off me
And they're the first to tell me to heal
How can you heal if everytime you tell your story
They make it seem like a made up story
It's like they were blind for all my life
And what hurts is how they create this picture
Of how I owe people around me for my strength
They've forgotten that I'm self taught
No one showed me to look the other way when I get hit
But I keep writing cause it hurts them
Hurts them to see that what they've lived to know
Was a lie they told themselves so that they sleep well
When deep down they know they've never been there for me
It's been me all along
The PO£T