I am not Jessica Rabbit,
nor as erasable as a cartoon
We all wash out, eventually
My heroes loving villains
We all wash out
eventually
my intoxicating
blurred fantasy
She placed her dreams in starshine's bright design
where she believed the galaxy would guard them
from incidents and accidents that might shard them.
She trusted stars to lifelong harmonize love's song.
Wearing confident styles, she traversed fickle miles
before finding a grand love that would surely thrive.
Now, she barely manages life or pajamas without strife.
Gone is her strong and else she wished meant to belong.
Her frantic emotions fast crashed in gray-bashed static
and just her sofa holds her in tear splotchy folds.
Wishing to be free of depressions dark torture spree,
she lives with heart bruises and painful mind debris.
Numbness blurs her pathetic in swirls of decrepit
that pick at her feel-fabric already shredded traumatic.
She cannot define when their end started its doomed sway
but recalls when he left with her 'besty' on a final, total away.
MY NEUROLOGIST SAVED MY LIFE TODAY SORRY I WILL NOT STRESS OVER IMMATURE PERSONS SENDING TERRORIST THREATS ON LICENSE PLATES TO A TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURED DISABLED WOMAN TODAY AH TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY RELIEF GOD BLESS AMERICA
Divided under the cities
streams mapping decisive
endings while toiling about
the beginning boldness
reaching for braising
characters galloping
amidst a certain angst
we’ve devoured nothingness
and opened the sky
with truth thrashing
tempers meaningful tools
craving an emptiness
above the continuous
Bayshore a quiet offering
pelicans landings sinking
yet surrounding the
jaded light house that
withered to soon exposing
only the dim lantern leaning
to one side still brightening
the rippling waves
Written by Yolanda Nicholsen
April 7th 2014
getting injections
for traumatic brain injury
Many never come home from battle.
Most come back for war, but not all
come back without being traumatized
by the reality of death and dying.
This fact reminds us of those who are
suffering from post-traumatic syndrome.
He lived the pathos and pain of war
He’s still haunted by blood-flowing
Upon the battlefield
The sounds of gunfire and shells
Bombard his tortured mind
He was just a boy when sent to war
Came back traumatized from being
Upon the battlefield
Still hearing gunfire and shells
Target his tortured mind
He will always bear the pangs of war
Can’t forget his buddies dying
Upon the battlefield
Cut down by gunfire and shells
Left him with tortured mind
He stares at the wall. sees naught but war
And its horror amidst fighting
Upon the battlefield
And facing gunfire and shells
Inside his tortured mind
His life few will ever understand
This hero with a tortured mind
I was fixed in front of my parent's grave.
They were quiet as the tomb was interned.
There were only two people that were brave.
I was fixed in front of my parent's grave.
We have no soothing words or blooms to save
They shared their emotions, and I feel burned.
I was fixed in front of my parent's grave.
They were quiet as the tomb was interned.
Written: May 10, 2023
the awakening again night sweats wet sheet
a cold damp room filled with gloom screams
wails sighs distant cries the war on the mind
has began all over again passing through
enemy territory life exploding like bombs
quieting thought mere panic send familiar
waves throughout your body gun shots loudly
rang out the soft beating drum of your own
infant heart beat takes over wires surround
your womb deep inside hostage situations
the calmness gathered beneath drenched
covers from the trenches of a mental break
beating down your self consciousness while
fight flight abruptly arrive to rescue you the
sinking helpless feeling of darkness overwhelms
you while you recite i matter an yet the enemy
is invisible taunting teasing tampering with your
inner most peace ripping brain matter tasting
blood of traumatic events severe violent hardship
your body trembles your mind captured you quietly
lay there helpless asking where is chaplin where is
red cross you are alone within your own rapture
heart pounding pill box fall to the floor mental
health treatment on the other side of the door
You should be
Strolling fields of wildflowers.
Munching heavenly grasses.
Sun polishing your satin flanks.
Sipping from a lily-kissed pond.
Running the hills-full throttle.
Necking with a favorite mare friend...
Tails twitching merrily in the wind.
Instead,
you're prodded into a war zone.
Bricks and rocks smacking ribs.
Ears rattling from bullhorns-sirens-egos.
Shattering glass -
Shaking tear gas.
Half-blinding your wild brown eyes.
You try reasoning out the scene
of these crazy-crazy human beings.
After the carnage- it's back to the stalls.
For all your blood sacrifice and burning eyes
you're given half-rotted, bloody New York apples.
I do not let it stop my daily affairs.
Frustration and aggravation and moments
of discouragement my concentration fails to flourish.
I've tried hard to take a breath of courage.
The damage done to the brain just idles in silence.
Hopes that it doesn't remain.
A tidal wave of resentments for this infliction are my fate.
The artist within me sometimes ceases to create.
I will not let this infliction reign.
12/28/2018
Poetry Contest: Brainy Brevity
Sponsored by: Maureen McGreavy
Here we hid when we heard
A knock strongly---a sudden clattered upon the ground
Everyone indoor shrieked, trembled
Out... out..... we heard
They separated males from females
Sans bother how small we were
They guided us to the boot camp field
Gave us lives and death train. Rubbed ours and
Their faces with slurry that as dark as ackee seed
Handed each with weapons. To mamas males were living dead
1939th of september to1945th of september
The days were long gone, but still remember
Told us show mercy to whom fall by your way you are dead
Victory it our goal. Words of venom and
Drug infused made our heart to strong as harden wood
Mansions become ash by fingers tamped
Animate breathless by stabbed
Stick. Raise countries devoured by swallowing lips
May the old and youth of this and coming generations
Not experience such; the heroes and
Heroines that go to rest nurture as cradle in right hand.
An interview with a veteran who happens to a victim.
Tries to kill himself.
Rather die young than
Achieve goals.
Unsure about
Making a bright future.
Acts like a follower but can be a leader.
Tries to get out of trouble but
Instead, continues until something bad happens, then
Cries when not heard.
Teenagers not taking
Responsibility
And causing
Utter
Madness, sadness
And
Trauma while
Intoxicated.
CRASH!
as I lay beneath the twillight
of my perpetrual youth
why under a knights cloak
I'd withered very quickly
saddled beyond self an unconscious
metaphor idealistically reaching for
melancholy congressional desires
morbid meetings of the mind
I could only invision
through dark windows
in my head I'd drifted
calmly into madness into a sheer
sleep state of awareness
a rapture of small panting's
kept me ajar amidst the emptiness
of bruised brain matter so well crafted
while dreaming in pieces
Possibly the most difficult battle I've ever fought.
Timeless struggles of my mind.
Scenes of human depravity lurk behind my closed eyes.
Disturbs my daily routines and demands attention.
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