Hearing Voices, Poetry, Trauma, Uncategorized

Buried

when I was

sacrificed for their pleasure

abandoned, tossed aside

I didn’t know if I mattered

They spoke my name softly

or spit it disdainfully

did I look up when they spoke

challenge them with my eyes

clenched fists

locked knees

I stayed safely silent and felt it

in the tissues of my soul

It’s still buried there

their voices are still

talking and sometimes I can’t escape

and I become like them selfish and uncaring

and it takes every ounce of strength to pull away

to see me

to see my value

to set my feet in the earth

and know I am not buried

to know

I am alive  …  they aren’t 

 

Droid photos 4678

(photo – wilowispaperio, 2015)

 

 

 

 

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