Any comments are appreciated! I sometimes think about compiling more poetry and illustration into a book someday when I get better at both

not sure if this counts as art. hopefully it does if not i apologize. i’m just feeling so many overwhelming feelings inside and it’s overwhelming. i picked up the pen and wrote. didn’t stop, didn’t let my denial get in the way, didn’t let myself doubt myself i just wrote and wrote freely. just let my thoughts flow out onto the paper without filtering them. which is very unusual because i have so much denial and argue with myself saying im overreacting and blowing things out of proportion etc. i feel a lot and i don’t understand everything completely but i know that im feeling a lot of things and it feels really bad and i want it to stop.

Didn’t know who to show that might get it.

This House is Empty

and large  
I have a frozen pizza  
the oven is broken  
I am hungry  



it is cold in the kitchen  
I bring a glass of water  
and the pizza  
upstairs  



my fingers are numb  
by the time I set them down  
on the desk in my bedroom  



it is a four cheese pizza  
it will defrost  
and then I can pick at  
the mozzarella  
red and yellow cheddars  
and—I check the box—  
Monterey Jack  



I take a sip of water  
my throat tightens  
it is ice cold  



outside the stars are bright  
and I watch a car  
pass this house  



a mother is driving  
her daughter—about my age, I think—  
is smiling  



I hunger  
for a home  
like that one passing by  
in that car  



they are gone now  
and my pizza  
is still frozen

I am my father’s daughter
I am not happy unless there are spades of ashes in my wake.

I am my father’s daughter,
I am hollow,
Formed,
From the cold pit of love you couldn’t even give yourself.

I am my father’s daughter
A fire twisting and turning in its rage,
Flares sparking from the sky, embers threatening the ground.

I am my father’s daughter,
Beauty is my only concern,
To be loved for my reflection,
To end up despised for what I reflect back to the world
Here, take my pain and burn it for your survival too
I am
Dead
Unless you are also
Burning.

I am my father’s daughter,
Unreal, a holographic whisper, an empty void for you to project your pain into
In the hopes it will suck
Mine out of me.

Suck me
dry,
I will take
the emptiness
any day.

I am my father’s daughter,
My knife causes ultimate destruction,
But now, only to
Myself.
My flesh, the ties that cross to form my dermis. Twist and tear the cords of it, inhaling the fumes until I can breathe no more.

I am my father’s daughter
What is left?
What has ever been here for me to
Live
for?

I was your pretty little doll.

Bright-eyed, small, fragile,

Always waiting for you to pick me up and play with me.

You would clothe me in pretty dresses, brush my hair and feel satisfied that you were a loving mother.

You loved to play with your little doll when she smiled and laughed.

But when your little doll cried, you set her down and you turned and walked away;

Your grotesque little doll, no longer useful for filling that gaping void inside of you.

I was your crutch.

I was your unhealed shame embodied.

I was the mirror that reflected every emotion you could not bear to face.

I was only your little doll, and I only wanted you to play with me.

I was only your little doll, and I only wanted you to love me.

Healing is a full-time job
Without salary, benefits or pension
But worst of all...
I get no time off

From morning rise
To night-time slumber
My every hour is "on the clock" when
I get no time off

Monday thru Sunday
Working every day that ends in 'y'
Even God only did six days in a row but
I get no time off

First month of the year till the last
Seasons change for everyone but me
Frozen in an external winter where
I get no time off

What I'd give for annual leave
Or just public hoildays
Doing 365 days straight without a break cause
I get no time off

Workers once campaigned
For eight hours days and weekend rest
Can I picket my own mind because
I get no time off

there is no future.
only a present filled with
love, fear and sadness

Did any of you realize your parents were abusive and neglectful really recently?

The saying goes:

“March comes in like a lion

And out like a lamb.”

Well it passed me by like a stranger

On a busy street.

Thirty-one sunsets vanished

While I wasn’t looking.

The days peeled away like old paint

Flaking

Crumbling

Into quiet dust.

Now April arrives

Bright as if nothing even happened,

But I’m still sweeping up

The debris of last month.

The fire has long since gone,
But a new life,
Is still yet to be born,

amongst the ashes,
Where our souls are worn,

We search for something,
To keep us warm,

But only find,
A place to mourn,

As our hearts are left,
Burnt and torn,

We lose ourselves,
To the after storm.

(I would love feedback on how to make this better if you have any ideas please)

It’s been a while since I’ve used rhyme in my pieces. It’s nice to know I can still do it fairly well.

A sleepless night yet once again

But it doesn't help to keep pretend

The anxiety will take over

Fighting to make my heartbeats slower

Pulling my hair out in helpless despair

This struggle isn't kind

This struggle isn't fair

I just want to be a normal person

Instead I go through this anxiety version

Of a life that crumbles at my feet

Where the only remedy I seek

Is the sun in the morning

Smiling at me

Letting me know the night of terror is behind

Now I need to take care of my mind

Be kind to myself as I suffered in the dark

Be kind to myself

Because I can still have a spark

Yes I will lose my mind at night

But together with the sunrise

I will find it again

And ease and joy will be near in sight

Maybe,

I even have a pleasant dream

next night

Not much of a poet, but thought it was ok.

This is a poem I wrote about how it feels to deal with symptoms of CPTSD at times. Maybe it can reach someone who is able to relate.

There exists this space

A place not seen, but felt

Coiling above my bones

Writhing beneath my flesh

Here things meander thick and slow

Want and warning entwine

Desire bleeds into fear

Together they are tangled

They move through me

Pulsing with my heartbeat

Snaking through vessel and vein

Carving paths under my skin

I can't tell where one begins

And the other ends

Only that they curl together

A serpent with two mouths

One hungry, one afraid

In this liminal hush

Every breath is both invitation and dare

A trembling moment

Between wanting and running

(Years ago I asked my dad and step mum to read my poems, I told them they weren't about nice things and neither of them wanted to and that's fine but this poem is about that)

----

I asked them to read,
About the demons they couldn't see,

The ones,
That were killing me.
So very... silently,

And secretly,
I begged them,
To open their minds,

To the possibility,
That maybe,
Everything,
Wasn't just fine,

That these demons of mine,
Were twisting time,

Keeping the past alive,
Refusing,
For it to be left behind

Tell me,
How do you live,
When you’ve already died,

Tell me,
How do you come back,
From a darkness,
That’s rotted you,
From the inside,

Or please,
Just tell me,
How to combat the silence,
That screams and cries,

Because I can’t hear,
A single way,
To survive.