cathartic suffering

(new home)

I went to hell

it was country green,

nature thrived on the nights I cried;

when we moved there, it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.

I sought a peace I couldn’t find,

anything to calm my mind

and keep my racing thoughts

away from the memories I couldn’t forget.

I said to myself,

‘These sheep will keep the memories at bay,

so will my poetry. And the chickens, they’re fun to play with. I’ll find a nice boyfriend at church

and I’ll keep on singing,

I feel sad inside

and sometimes I act weird

and I don’t know why’,

and it’s because

I went to hell,

it was country green.

When we moved there,

it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen; but I ached inside in a way that made me hold my arms close to my body,

tight,

watching myself back on family video I see

how uncomfortable I was in my skin,

around the ones I loved,

but they always celebrated me, and I’m grateful for that,

and for the visible difference I saw

within myself

within my body

I guess trauma matured with my age; it just got worse,

having a good and bad inside me has been

exhausting:

I play devils advocate against my

own mind,

every single day,

and now I’m medicated in a way that makes me numb;

I didn’t want my life to take this turn

but that’s what happens when

you go to hell.

You notice,

‘this country green looks…

off.

It has an underlying darkness about it

I can’t put my finger on.

I have moved to a place

that doesn’t understand me,’ I sob into conversations with god as a teenager,

I lash out at my parents but the good inside me knows it’s because my spirit is

dying inside;

nature stopped thriving

because I stopped crying,

and I became an empty vessel,

waiting to be recognised.

I went to hell.

It was country green,

nature thrived on the nights I cried; when we moved there, it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.

Eventually, I understood why we moved there.

The situations that uncovered became less

beautiful over time.

I guess that’s what trauma does,

unhealed,

unheard.

It sits in the car ride over

on your first day moving into your new home,

you are unpacking your unhealed

into your new,

as you open the car door and spill out into the fresh,

country green…

this was meant to be a new start;

but nature doesn’t thrive anymore.

this new home feels more like a new hell,

in fact it was;

just,

I place my naive nature in the

cruel hands of curiosity,

interest sparking

chemicals flooding

My attention is not here right now

this realisation, like

splinters

sinks from my skin to my bones,

a cold dread setting in fast

pelting a storm of fury into the palms of my hands; I can’t see

It’s okay, I’m safe

it’s safe to explore

my face flushes hot, like

lava

rising to devastate

but there is beauty in volcanic eruptions,

let it happen.

my mouth,

brimming with doom

parched-

I’ve felt like this before

ask it what it wants, go ahead

the pit in my stomach grows

deeper with every breath I take,

with the shallow rise and fall of my chest being the only reminder that heartbreak is a fictional term, not a medical one;

I remember everything.

my splintered sight is

so bright

so furious

and

unholy,

I remember everything.

it brings about an

unsanctioned welcome into my throat, and although it spreads slowly,

I can taste

bitterness

on my tongue-

I r emember,

I remember it so clearly I can never unsee again,

Promises,

they became exhausted words portrayed as

distinguished truths.

I asked for the promise, 

I got the truth.

I said,

let’s talk about it, 

the truth doesn’t seem very distinguished.

You said, 

we don’t talk about it.

I said, 

your promises are 

exhausted words.

but I said it in a way that only you would understand.

biting. hot. heavy words.

words only we know,

words we promised each other we wouldn’t say-

but like so many promises get broken along the way,

I broke that one too, 

i’m sorry.

We are both liars, and 

our words are