Poetry to Pain

Mon, 07/09/2018 - 19:48 -- Wahneta

I was raised to keep my issues bottled

I live with a family where communication is a problem

Introverted pacifist, avoiding all confrontation

When I try to speak, I stutter, failing all articulation

Or worse, I speak, and it turns into an argument

A simple Sunday supper turned World War III battlement


Frustration overwhelming, I started to give up

But my mother kept inquiring, "Why can't you get up?"

Dark room, curtains drawn, blankets hiding a soul withdrawn

By my side, my trusty notebook, fallen tear stains not yet gone

Desperate for answers, she took a peak inside

And discovered more than she'd ever through conversations and cries


So it became our little arrangement for when I couldn't get out of bed

I would put poetry to pain and she'd read it like an MRI of my head

What I couldn't tell her, she could deduce from rough ink scratchings in my notebook

I revealed my trauma in stanzas, written by a hand that shook


I won't lie for a happy ending

There's still issues, progress pending

But on days where the sun does not rise

My pain is maintained through the poems that I write

This poem is about: 
My family


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741