The Truth about Trauma.

Dsc02480by Michelle Seyner05 Oct 2019

People don't understand
you don't cling to trauma -
it clings to yóú.
It is the shadow that follows me.
It is the stranger that stalks
me home and stares at my window -
even though I closed the curtains.
It is the quiet whisper in my ear
when I feel happiest.
It's the sound of my own
footsteps being foreign
to me, sometimes.
It's the smell, texture and taste
of certain foods.
It's the music I pray
I'll never hear again.
It's being dragged,
by the hair, back
to a situation I never wanted
to be in, and I already survived.
It's my brain making connections
between present and past
based on a sound, a look,
a certain tone, a shift in
body posture.
It's like Jekyll & Hyde
made a really horrifying
Snapchat filter that darkens
every picture I was
ever in.
It's the chill I can't shake,
the fever that won't break,
the scars screaming on my skin
and from the soul within.
Trauma never measures distance
in years. It measures but its
own pain. It plays reruns
I cannot unsubscribe from.
It sticks to me the way "bland"
sticks to boiled potatoes.
It is working hard to not flinch
when somebody raises a hand.
It is feeling that familiar
sinking feeling in my stomach
when someone mentions certain
names. Trauma doesn't age
like other memories do.
Trauma is a haunted house
of Halloween hell-holes,
all year round,
wearable inside
my own damn skull.
It is both a costume,
and a customized skin
I never chose
to get dressed in.

6 October 2019.
Michelle Seyner.