Friday, August 10, 2012

What Is, Will Always Be, A Memory Regardless


Trouble comes,
trouble goes,
at which point will it stay?

P.T.S.D. despite of severity,
is what?

Defining the difference,
the in-between,
the worthy and the dead.

For having been afflicted by what has won the bid,
I dread.

Do not shed yourself away for fear of what you've seen.
A flashback, or, a lively view of what's already been.

Is just a guarantee for you,
 by those that aren't around, 
to make sure you are found,
 not bound.

A good ride home,
back to your land,
where earth and man can give you a hand.

To open a path,
to understand,
what plagues your mind today,
would that be a welcome relief, not grief?

It is his-story or hers, I guess,
that needs to be told in time.
Not yet known, only rumors of,
you are the witness of what is rough.

An atrocity, passing away,
as not to succumb, you must be.

Hold steady.

Intimidation can be strong and often pushes back.
Do you want to be whom stood?
or
be whom saw and balked?

Regardless of your sightful wound,
it's the one's we cannot see.
Those injuries that bleed us dry,
that cause such surgery.

There is no drug,
no doctor's knife,
to cut this wound from us.

But, for reasons; I believe
this will bring unique to trust.

However hard, whatever scene,
the movie that is played 'round your mind,
shows at an equal time,
to rate the play in you.

To be afraid, or, to just fear sight of disbelief,
is a natural state of affairs.

For whom would like to know us?

Just wipe-out the ones they've seen,
the unholy and unclean.

Please tell my story,
do not go, disappear or say,
"Horrors did not happen"

Please don't,
 agree with lies, and, tie the knots,
 that make it so I don't exist.

P.T.S.D. is not for me,
although,
I'm sure I volunteered to survive.

Regardless, "Hi!"
I'm here to remember thee.

Belittle this or make this less,
than what this really is.
You will find nightmares get worse,
and cures elude your mind.

The interest in or research of,
Post Traumatic Stress.
Take a penny, toss it above,
you'll see, there is no love.

Survival of our Minds, our souls,
let alone, our bodies hold.

Memories

Wake-up old-soul!
Wake yourself, your value is untold.
But take a life and you'll cause strife,
confusion not yet told.

I've seen what is,
for snuffed I was,
stuck starring at myself.

Just a girl,
not three feet in length,
I worry myself........still.

To understand the acts of man,
I wonder why I'm here.
I jumped back in to my coldest self,
took off that bag of fear.

For what I saw and why I jumped,
I'm selfish, not "A Dear."
This thing it streamed behind my neck,
"I'd missed my ride from here."

So I did,
I jumped back in myself,
I gasped for breath to be........

Now stuck with you, I'd gone straight threw,
this raged in me for years.

A child I was,
so close to be,
out of this mess of humanity.

All you do is to complain,
raping children, calling names,
then you blame, your sickness on me.

How can I not look back, "At Tot,"
and not wish for another lot.
(Throw the bones.)

To escape!
To become any other thing but me.

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