http://www.fictionalcafe.com/the-poetry-of-pain-by-barbara-lawrence/ Welcome to the Fictional Café, a virtual coffee shop created especially for writers and artists. Mike, Jack, Jason, Caitlin, Charlotte, Simran, Rachael and Steve, your Fictional Café baristas, welcome you! We hope you’ll love hanging out here with us, reading and talking about writing, commenting on art and photography, listening to original podcasts, and… Continue reading My Trauma Poems Published on fictionalcafe.com!
Extreme violence, chaos, and repeated sexual violation had been a way of life for me as a child, but I had never thought of myself as a victim. I just thought This is my life and I have to deal with it. This changed when, after being raped in college at the age of seventeen,… Continue reading I’m Only a Victim If I Choose to Be
By not accepting personal responsibility for our circumstances, we greatly reduce our power to change them. – Steve Maraboli Photo by David Watkis on Unsplash
Silence. Does such a thing really exist? I’m not so sure. My thoughts thunder like a triggered minefield. They criticize, they punish. They demand perfection. They repeatedly impose upon me the notion that I have nothing of value to share with the world. Negative thinking has been a part of my psyche for as long… Continue reading Battleground
APRIL 6, 2018 BY MARTINA Available on Amazon! Copyright secured by Digiprove © 2018 https://martinafranklinpoole.com
I Can’t Wish Myself into Joy I was a girl at play, buoyant with glee simple things: merry-go-rounds pogo sticks puppies. Powerlessness Pain Exuberance dwindled. Years grew heavy, humorless, numb. I can’t wish myself into joy. It must well from within – lotus blossom through mud, organic. Sunlight streams hope to my heart. Quiescent petals… Continue reading Poem: I Can’t Wish Myself into Joy
Silence, as it relates to childhood sexual abuse, can be devastating. In this post, Alexis powerfully shares how the Silence that came with abuse affected her.
Dedicated to all the survivors I’ve met and the ones I’ve yet to meet along the way. For those who have found their voice and those who are still working on finding it. Silence can mean so many things…this is my interpretation of how the silence felt.
The silence was the worst sometimes.
That moment when an abusive event ends.
The silence is sometimes the most uncomfortable part of being hurt. It’s a strange feeling to see someone who has just hurt you in ways that are abhorrent just turn around and walk away.
Watching them leave. It felt as if they were also taking a little piece of my spirit with them leaving another tatter, another rip in my already shredded soul.
It wasn’t very often that my abusers would say anything when they are finished.
The feeling of invisibility was palpable.
No yelling, crying, blaming, scolding; they just simply finish and leave…
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