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Best Poems Written by Becoming Trude From The Ruins

Below are the all-time best Becoming Trude From The Ruins poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Still, I Rise in Color

for the ones losing hair, light, and hope—this is you.

They said I was nothing special.
Just a crawling thing,
skin too thin,
eyes too tired,
body too slow to ever matter.

I heard them whisper.
“He looks worse every day.”
“She’s losing her hair now.”
“Poor thing.”
And worse—
the pity in their voices
cut more than the words.

I wanted to hide.
Wanted to leave this skin,
this pain,
this mirror that won’t show me
who I used to be.

But something small inside me
held on.
Not loudly—
just enough to breathe.

They don’t see
how much it hurts
to keep trying.
To wake up with tubes and needles
and still smile for the ones who visit.
To fight
even when the fight
has taken everything.

But still—
I keep going.
Not because it’s easy.
Because it matters.

Like a caterpillar
mocked for its shape,
for the way it moves,
for how “ugly” it looks
while becoming.

No one claps
for the struggle in the cocoon.
No one sees the tearing,
the blood,
the near-death quiet
before wings happen.

But one day,
I will rise.

Not perfect.
Not untouched.
But real.
Alive.
Wings colored by every wound I survived.

And if you ever feel
too broken to be beautiful again,
remember—
a butterfly was once barely breathing too.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

On a Jukebox That Remembers Me

I met ANGIE in a bar where grief drank quiet,
where HONKY TONK WOMEN spilled perfume and regret.
She moved like WILD HORSES with nowhere left to run—
said, “I’m safer UNDER MY THUMB than out in the open.”

She kissed like a dare and left like smoke.
On RUBY TUESDAY, she vanished into rain,
murmuring, “YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT,”
and I didn’t even try to stop her.

She used to laugh when we lost at TUMBLIN DICE,
but the last time she smiled, she was already gone.
I tried to PAINT IT BLACK, but some songs keep bleeding.
The Rolling Stones still hum behind my ribs.

Every track she touched skips now—
her chorus etched in static.
She didn’t take her coat,
just the part of me that knew how to stay warm.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Along With The Thunder

I am chaos,
the storm that shatters silence —
thunder rolling through the wreckage,
still breathing, still burning, still me.

They hurt me.
Often.
And I stayed.
Not because I was weak —
but because I believed people were more
than their wounds.

I saw the hidden cracks no one else did.
I loved anyway.

But the tether snapped.
No longer do I chase the lightning
that scars but never warms.

I care — but I don’t cling.
I remember — but I don’t return.

No hatred resides here —
only a quiet goodbye
to the thousand selves who thought love meant bleeding.

I am the fire,
the lightning’s flash —
the storm’s calm eye.

I am Chaostrude.
Not a title.
A becoming.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Blood in the Quiet

Silence isn’t quiet —
it’s the scream stuck in my throat,
the venom dripping from broken teeth,
the promise shattered on cracked floors.

Your silence is a fist
beating against my ribs,
each unanswered breath a knife twisting deeper,
a war waging beneath broken skin.

I claw at shadows
grasping ghosts that slip through bleeding fingers,
love drowned in the dark,
where silence is a battlefield
and nothing survives.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

That's Not Safe

I swallowed words like razors in the dark,
A thousand cuts across my broken skin,
They told me "silence"—so I hid the spark,
While screaming softly, bleeding deep within.

The mirror lied: it whispered I was whole,
But fractures ran beneath the painted face.
I smiled and nodded, playing the doomed role,
While scars—my silent hymns—betrayed my grace.

They told me love was safe, but it was fire,
A flame that licked and burned my fragile core.
I danced on glass, mistaking wounds for choir,
And sang my pain to walls that asked for more.

Now I refuse the comfort of the lie,
For silence kills, but screaming helps me fly.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

What If He Says That to Our Daughter

-In the dead of night, when the world is silent, her whispers haunt the shadows of my mind.

“Daddy, I’m so tired… I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Her small voice, trembling like a ghost, echoes in my heart — a chilling reminder of the fragile life we’re trying to hold together.

Late at night,
when silence drapes the room,
my mind whispers the questions
I’m too scared to ask.

Was I happy?
Or just trying to be?
Did he make me happy,
or was I chasing shadows —
because he was my first love?
Or was there something more?

I gave him all I had,
because I loved him that much.
But my mind spirals,
questions tearing through me:

Was it the right choice —
to stay with him?

I forgave him,
for love’s sake.

I wished…
I thought of dying instead.

But what if he tells my daughter —
the one I want to protect —
“This is why I can’t love you.”

What if our little girl comes to him,
with heavy, silent tears,
whispering, “Daddy,
I have dying thoughts.
I feel lost, alone, and broken.”

Will he see her pain?
Or tell her she’s the reason
he can’t love her?

How will she feel then?
Is that what I want for her?
To carry this weight
before she even learns to breathe?

I love him —
but isn’t she the result of that love?
Isn’t she just as important as I am to him?
Isn’t she our blood, our sweat, our tears,
our prayers whispered late at night?

Then why —
what if he can’t hold her like I hope he will?
What if he can’t hold me, either?

He is my partner, yes,
but she —
she is ours.
Isn’t she?

And isn’t it both our responsibility —
his and mine —
to hold on tight,
to protect her,
to be with her,
to make sure we find happiness together?

Why is he like this?
I know his view is broken —
but aren’t we the ones he loves?
Shouldn’t I, his partner,
and our daughter too,
be safe in his arms?

Can’t he see I’m breaking —
the one who stayed,
the one who loved him
through every crack and flaw?

I want him to teach her
that pain isn’t the answer,
but when everything falls apart —
when my heart feels just like hers —

Is he the one I should trust
to hold our daughter’s fragile heart?
Is he the one I should spend
the rest of my life with?

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

When Heaven Turns To Hell

At first, it was heaven — pure and bright.
Then came the cry, 
A single tear that swelled into a river, 
And from that flood, hell was unleashed.

Her world shattered, 
Suffering took root deep within her soul.

She was never the same.
Locked away in her room, 
Her mind a storm of questions —
Where did it all go wrong? 
Was she the darkness itself? 
Was it all just a cruel mistake? 

Should she have spoken the truth? 
Should she have let it go at the start? 
Why did she stay? 
Why did she believe? 
Why did she think it would stay the same? 
Was it all... for nothing? 

What else could she have done? 
After all, we all make mistakes.

But in the end —
How many will truly stay? 
Who will remain, care, love, 
Stand beside her through the storm? 

Who will accept her — flaws and all —
Just as she accepted theirs? 

Will there ever be a time
When she can be happy —
Happy with herself? 
Free to speak her truth, 
Without fearing loss, 
Without fearing abandonment?

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Bones Beneath the Tower

Inspired by Bob Dylan's "Mississippi" 

I was the backbone of your dream—
ribs shaped into beams,
my blood seeping slow,
cementing your tower’s base.

You promised a sky of stars,
a rise beyond all shadows—
but I was just a ghost
etched in your blueprint,
a whisper beneath your tower.

We built forever on lies,
stacking stones on my shoulders—
I was your ground,
your silent sacrifice,
the shadow no one names.

You spoke of freedom—
but all I felt was the weight,
a hollow echo in my bones.

You spoke of love—
and I swallowed the silence
you left behind.

Now the dream is dust,
the sky a fractured lie,
and I stand—
an empty scaffold,
a ruin in the wind.

You vanished in fire—
and I’m left to fall.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Let It Be

I gave my heart, it bled so deep,
Tried to hold on, but couldn’t keep,
Nights were cold, tears fell like rain,
Whispered low, let go the pain.

I searched for love, but it slipped free,
Flickers lost where light should be,
Through all the hurt, I learned to see—
Maybe sometimes you just gotta let it be.

Details | Becoming Trude From The Ruins Poem

Rain and Snake

I crawl through darkness —
small, scared,
biting at shadows
to keep my life,
to keep my fear away.

I hold my breath,
keep still,
hiding trembling beneath the strike,
trying not to break,
trying not to pour my heart out.

Everyone sees the fight —
the flash of scales,
the flicker of anger —
but no one sees the fear
that claws beneath the surface,
the quiet battle I wage alone.

I am the rain —
falling slow,
holding back the storm inside,
stubbornly holding it in,
though the weight grows heavy.

Sometimes I feel it —
the sky breaking open,
the flood ready to spill free,
but I clutch harder,
trying not to drown in my own tears.

I see that in him —
eyes full of pain,
holding back the storm,
terrified,
yet still trying
to keep the enemy at bay
with silence and stillness.

Maybe I am the same —
holding on too tight,
hiding the cracks,
knowing the end may come soon,
but refusing to let go.

Maybe we are all snakes and rain —
also here to survive the storm —
fragile and fierce,
wounded and wary,
trying to live without breaking.