Bad memories Poem | Imamother

hodaya ↓

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 3:55 am

Hey I've been reading this forum for a while and the stuff is amazing and creative.
I have been going through a bit of a rough time now and my writing reflects that most of stuff is to dark to share. But I wrote this poem this morning and seeing that there a few women on this site who could relate I thought I would share it.

Violent images reign free

Filling my head

Visiting me in nightmares

Shocking me into vivid flashbacks

Some are too sharp, too strong

They pass the test of time

Challenging the capacity of the conscious

To forget, to heal

Let them line up

Each patiently waiting their turn

For one day their edges will blur

One image will become part of the next

Disjointed fragments

Creating a hazy recollection

Stuck in the corners of the mind

Pockets of empty memories

Like an incomplete jigsaw puzzle

Their darkness will fade away

Only their brightness shall remain

And if the picture should contain no light

Let it sink into oblivion

Never to be remembered

I will shake the shadow of darkness

That has been cast over my life

Commit these visions to words

Allow them a physical space

That can be passed into history

No longer locked inside me

Give them their autonomy

The validation they deserve

Live happily outside me

No longer haunt me

These demons are no more mine

I have released them

They hold no control over me

I have loosened their power over me

I have set myself free

pumpernickle

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 7:54 am

Wow!!! Soo powerful!

sunshine! ↓

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 9:02 am

That was beautifully written and spoken from the heart. Thanks for sharing and hope that thing's look up for you soon!

superjew ↓

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 11:29 am

Wow amazing! Beautifully written. Thanks for sharing

workingmom6

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 11:50 am

Wow! Powerful and incredibly beautiful.

I have something that is not a poem and maybe not "bad" memories but this seems like a good place to post it - I want to hear feedback from you guys.
***
someplace inside me is a little girl, 8 years old, waking up alone in the middle of the night in her uncle's bed where she sleeps because her aunt is afraid to sleep in an empty apartment (her uncle is in the hospital at the bedside of his 9 year old daughter).

this little girl is strong and tough - she's not afraid of anything. and it's enough for her aunt that she sleeps near her every night the uncle is away. but this night, there are voices coming into the bedroom in the back from the kitchen in the front, and her aunt's bed is empty.

the little girl is not stupid. she sits up a little and stares at the lamp on the bedstand and traces the pattern of the brass roses with her eyes as she absorbs what she feels and knows has just happened.

her cousin is dead.

she hears her aunt crying in the kitchen and repeatedly blaming herself - she should have been there in the hospital tonight. then the aunt walks alone into the bedroom and sees the little girl awake. she smiles and tells the little girl not to worry and go back to sleep. then she walks into the master bathroom and closes the door and cries.

maybe the little girl fell asleep after that. she had lost her cousin a long time before. once, until they were 6 and 7 years old, they were best friends, first cousins, and next door neighbors rolled into one. they grew up like sisters, and did everything together. homework sprawled on the bedroom floor, heads bent over projects, singing every new song to each other, sharing every child-sized friend or teacher or neighbor issue as it came up.

then one day, there was a blackout in the small co-op building where they lived and the hallways were dark. there was a knock on the door of the little girl's apartment and her aunt stood there, in the dark, in tears. the little girl called her mother and the aunt could hardly talk, she just laid her head on her younger sister's shoulder and sobbed and sobbed.

the cousin showed the little girl the blister on her lip that her mother had shown the doctor. she didn't know about the other symptoms, and they both laughed away their mothers' fears. they were dancing together, holding hands, when the aunt yelled from the kitchen: "don't get too close to her, she's not feeling well!".

ha! what do mothers know! the little girl promptly kissed her cousin's booboo.

today she knows leukemia is not contagious.

one day, the cousin was home for a few days, still very sick and weak. the little girl was going to visit her cousin, and she wanted to bring her a gift. she chose her most precious treasure - a light blue owl-shaped comb and mirror set she had gotten from her grandmother.

she proudly gave it to her cousin, who happily opened it up.

and shrieked.
and shrieked.

the little girl shrunk into a corner of the room, terrified, not understanding what happened.

her aunt came running and took the mirror out of her cousin's hand and sat on the bed and held her and rocked her till she calmed down. she told the little girl that she was very careful not to let her cousin see what she looked like in a mirror, because her face was so bloated. her cousin had been horrified by her own reflection in the owl-shaped mirror. she gave the little girl the comb and mirror and the little girl left, crying bitterly as she walked down the narrow hallway to her own apartment, where she threw the mirror deep into her shelf and later dumped it in the garbage.

for a while, the cousin was home in remission and relished showing the little girl her medical paraphernilia and the thick white tape on her chest over her catheter and of course, all the many many gifts and toys she had gotten.

some days, the little girl helped her choose between the wig with the braids (which she didn't like but her mother did) and the short wig and the wig with longer hair (she liked that the best).

on the bus to school, the little girl was at her side, protecting her from mean comments and helping her hide the stuff she was attached to.

once, they were stuck in the elevator in their building together for two hours. the police came to break the door open and haul them up and out. the little girl did not step into an elevator for eight years after that.

then, when things were slowly falling into place a routine bloodtest brought everything back with a vengeance, and slowly the little girl lost her cousin.

it is now 24 long years that she is gone.

the little girl is big now. she is still strong and tough and brave and she never cried. but inside, part of her will always be eight years old, confused and hurting and not understanding.

robynm ↓

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 12:33 pm

oh workingmom6 that is such a sad and touching story....

↑ sunshine!

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 12:35 pm

WOW! That was so powerful! You did a great job of capturing the emotions.

↑ superjew

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 12:37 pm

wow working mom, well written. sad story.

the world's best mom ↓

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 1:13 pm

These are very touching.

amother ↓

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 5:20 pm

Posing anon, but will post my pseudonym: C.S.Singer

I have dreamed of many things,
Of ocean winds and spring.
But mostly I have dreamed of life
Made of happy, smiling things.

Arms to hold me, pull me tight.
Catch me when I fall.
Tell me, “It’s okay.”
Help me stand up tall.

Now life has proven differently,
There’s nothing I can do.
So I sit, and here I stay,
With no dreams coming true.

↑ hodaya

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 6:38 pm

Thanks everyone for your comments I'm open to critique as well??
c.s singer - I can relate so well to what you have written. What you are going through sounds so painful but I hope one day soon your dreams will come true and you will get that which you desire most. Don't give up.
Working mom - such a touching story and you wrote it so elequently.

↑ robynm

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 7:19 pm

amother wrote:

should be the lyrics to a song
it makes me cry

↑ amother ↓

Wed, Jan 19 2011, 7:21 pm

I'm actually a songwriter! Thanks :-)
-C. S. Singer

↑ amother ↓

Sat, Jan 22 2011, 8:34 pm

Why did you hurt me?
Why did you shout?
Why did you bang my head against the wall
in order to get control?

Why did you call me names?
Make me feel useless,
For what reason?

Was it pleasure?
Or just sheer pain of your own?

I know Ive grown,
And I am pretty big
since it happened,
but im still wondering why
just cant find an answer....

↑ the world's best mom

Sun, Jan 23 2011, 10:57 am

amother wrote:

This is an amazing poem. It makes me feel hurt and angry for the victim.

↑ amother

Sun, Jan 23 2011, 12:11 pm

Well the victim was me so thank you for feeling for me Smile