Post? Traumatic

Being broken and standing back up when
you don’t want to and don’t have the strength to do so,
is one of the bravest things in the world.
Not once, but again and again and again.
That is what is required, even when curled
up in a ball is where you want to be.

The world is like a rickety ride
In a run-down amusement park.
You want to get off and go home,
because you are exhausted and fried,
but the ride never stops;
while your brain is like an overfilled balloon
that never pops.

Sometimes, the only way to keep yourself going
is by pushing on, doing the work, and knowing it will get better soon.

Giving of yourself when you are drained
to the core, nothing left, until the only thing
you have left is to renew yourself anew
…or finally allow your soul to be maimed.

Looking across the demolished memories of days past,
crouched in a seemingly smaller and smaller life raft,
watching the few, the proud, the ungashed
living their lives without these wounds.

The ones that had the unconditional kind of love,
the kind you are supposed to have,
but never got, despite how much you strove
to receive it.

Having the strength to survive the darkness
and still contain light has to mean something.
Going through things of such harshness,
and not being reduced to a crumpled piece of nothing
allows us to truly be free.

Free to bask in the glory
of making it out
removes the doubt…

That we are as broken and grotesque as we were led to believe.