Weary, I slump in the trenches
My soldier’s heart beats fast,
Numbs my mind and fires my senses.
You would think that peace would reign supreme
That the scar tissue would protect me from
The spectres of my dreams.
But sometimes ‘it’ pierces through the fog of this normality.
Triggering the deepest pain
And I fail to figure
That the war is over.
And still, sometimes,
Not too often, thank god
I find myself immobilized
Haunted by your victorious silent near annihilation of me
The not to be spoken of past
The historical amnesia.
There’s no flag waving of surrender
Since I have long fled to safer land,
There’s no hysterical self – destruction
Since I have recomposed my life.
There is though, a pervasive sadness
That no peace treaty
No olive branch was attached
To the dead thud of divorce, court and denial.
You revel in your freedom
Dictators despise those they once oppressed.
And enjoy the territory I once loved,
The spoils of war, the fox holed cowardly silence
Of your domestic retreat and comrades
My name not to be uttered as if a breach of protocol.
I forge a wild path to peace
Wandering alone, somewhat dazed
Not quite at home, but knowing
I wouldn’t want to live in the shadows of that town
In the haze of lies.
The light of day stings my eyes
And the brutal truth hurts,
But it does set me free.
This poetry is written by a domestic violence survivor and author in one of the Broken to Brilliant books.
Her words behind her smile tell a picture of domestic violence, framed in poetry. She has used story-telling as a mode of survival and recovery.
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