I have tried – and obviously remain,
due to Hope,
where I do not want to lie down and die.
Each day appears harder and harder.
Pushing against former years,
where once again they make themselves cognizant,
where I can no longer pretend I have no tears,
where their remnant is now known.
Identity, release, ambivalence, anger, and rage,
all storming, dividing the rising selves.
Rising from subaqueous, dormant states.
Feelings are not allowed to be caged.
Not wanting to deal with them
I live an agitated restless painful life.
Trembling to survive the nightly loneliness,
trembling to master my days.
I wrote this poem over 30 years ago in the struggle during those times in counseling due to childhood abuse and the trauma I suffered. This brings back to my memory the intense conflict and extreme stress that occurs living in the aftermath of trauma.