The Trauma

Updated: Mar 25, 2020

By Jaylen Fennell

#trauma #ptsd #ya #teen #youngpoetsociety #author #creativewriting #poetry #poem

How dare you expel such nonsense from the sacred

temple that is your mouth.

I feel like you don’t love me.

Words so carelessly sharp, it can, no scratch that it will cut the one and only tie that’s ever kept us connected

The sacred temple from which I only knew true to be liberated from,

From which I could not and would not question,

from which I studied hours and hours familiarized like the back of my hand the constant deception that danced swiftly through your lips and pounced into my ears.

You told me you loved me.

Unveiled when you obtained your drugs.

Showed when you fell asleep as I confessed my love.

Revealed when you exploited feelings for personal gain.

Exposed when you sent the ones that loved you most straight to voicemail

because 10 minutes of pleasure and a quick fix always came first, right?

Taught me that if the reactants are beauty then the product is death, right?

Convinced into believing the only way to get you to love me was to hold the power of pills as leverage over your heart.

But I don’t want a forced love,

I want a natural love.

Natural like your routine

I want you to need me like your pack of cigarettes and coffee in the morning.

I want to be the peak of your high in the afternoon.

I want to be the sleep you fought so eagerly to get to, all because you were tired.

I want you to love me,

simply because you love me.




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