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i tell people all the time, that i shot my first gun when i was five. when i break down my childhood into facts and remove the emotion, people get uncomfortable very fast. which is to be understood, as who could imagine a five year old having the skill to fire a weapon. but i could. i did. i went on trips and outings to the range often, i became so good at shooting the target that it was a point of contention. “you would’ve done great in the marines, but they don’t allow female snipers.” little did we know there would be more than one reason why that wouldn’t work out.

it was cute until it wasn’t, my skill. it was admirable until i started to question my father on things he never gave thought to. “because i said so” lived in his mouth and spat into the walls of our home. curiosity stifled and inquisitive nature corrupted. why are you asking so many questions? don’t you feel honored to have the skill you do? when people ask me what my father taught me, i only have one answer. he taught me how to shoot, but not how to aim. he taught me how to reload but not how to maintain. he taught me enough to fashion me into a weapon, and then he hid me in his safe when i refused to cooperate.

my safety is off, my gun is jammed, and i’m looking down the barrel to find god, but he’s only around when my brother needs justification for his crimes. i don’t know what any of this means, im still unloading. i’m still unlearning it all. the heat from the metal keeps me warm, but only when i pull the trigger. there’s nothing left to reload. i have to start from scratch.

#trauma #writing #prose #cptsd

I used to dream of what it would be like to have an older sibling. I remember wishing for one of my cousins to fill that void for me, and I remember being disappointed that they chose not to.

#oldest daughter #but nonbinary #trauma #writing #poetry #prose #siblings #oldest

I’ll Keep Your Garden Watered While You’re Gone, Hand drawn before being scanned and colorized, c. 2021

#art #digital sketch #digital art #procreate #abstract

my grief pushes and pulls, but i know better than to turn my back towards the ocean.

#grief #loss #parent loss #death and dying #grief/mourning #writing #poetry #prose #prose poem #poem #mom #death #recovery #mother #prose poetry

i ask myself whether my mother loved me truly or if i was forever to be her first burden, the part of her baggage that was too heavy for anyone to hold.

and i scream into my pillow while i beg for the forgiveness that only the eldest child is meant ask for

#july 2022 #mother #unconditional love #eldest child #writing #inspired by haileynoecker / anticapitalismbae on tiktok #haileynoecker #anticapitalismbae

Sometimes, I think of how gorgeous the house I lived in during my formative years had truly been.

I remember how beautiful the backyard was at the start. The vines that curled around the white lattice fencing, surrounding the patio, had extended upwards in an attempt to touch the sun. To the left was a rock garden with a fountain centerpiece, step stones leading to a bountiful cacti garden that was hidden away from prying eyes. The opposite side had a sidewalk leading from the patio to the back door. Before turning the corner, there was a hedge that lined the sidewalk on one side. Across from the hedge and along the fence line was a planter box that extended far along the fence containing onions and other vegetables. Fruit trees were abundant, the most notable being the pomegranate tree.

By the end of it all, it was a disgusting cesspool that we were all afraid of going near. I think all the time about the couple who had lived in the house previously, who had cultivated such a beautiful life only for an abusive patriarch to destroy it. I wonder if they know what became of their backyard.

Mostly, I think of how it soured along with my perception of things, and how it became a source of my despair.

#writing #abuse #trauma #generational trauma

i think back to the times when i was small, when i could still crawl into my parent’s bed for comfort.

i’d lie down in between my mother's legs, and let my head rest against her thigh as she brushed the hair out of my face.

the idle hum of static noise that came from the soap opera in the background had filled the space around us.

things were so simple and i was so small.

i'm still so small.

#december 2020 #writing #prose #poetry #poem #prose poem #prose poetry #nostalgia #nostalgic #mother #mom #mother wound

thinking about the past. thinking about people from my past that i never got closure with. thinking about the times i was the bad guy in someone else’s story. thinking about the times i deviated from an obviously good path. thinking about how my executive dysfunction keeps me from actually accomplishing anything. thinking about how long it’ll take me to push myself into the spot light and take on the challenges with being a successful artist. thinking about death. thinking about how slow or sudden it can and will be. thinking about how this life is quick and it’ll be over soon, my last breath comes closer every minute and i’m thinking “when is theirs?” and i start crying. i think about the complete loss of energy when a soul leaves its body, and im wondering where i’ll go. i think about how i’m sitting in my room i share with my partner and child, in the bed i share with my partner, and i’m looking at the moon wondering why i’m still awake.

#july 2020 #writing #trauma #death #introspection #insomnia #road less traveled #emotions #thinking #midnight thoughts

feeling stuck in my memories and it’s a struggle to pull myself out from the emotional tar that traps me there.

i feel so defeated by the fact that i’m unable to change things that i fixate on my mistakes and the solutions i could’ve used.

replaying moments in my head and trying to remember if it actually happened.

the trauma i constantly forget and remember only to forget about again because i just can’t think of it.

had i been raised by better people or had any long lasting positive adult influences who could i have been?

it’s both comforting and distressing knowing the past is the past, and there is a sinking feeling whenever i can’t find my way back to the present.

#July 2020 #writing #trauma #family #generational trauma #memory loss #gaslighting #abuse #lost memories

Death registers for me not as goodbye. Rather, it becomes more of a see you later. I know that my distress comes from not having enough time to say what needs to be said. I know that I will have to be ok with some things being left unsaid. And that hurts the most.

#12 february 2021 #writing #prose #death #mom #cancer #terminal diagnosis

today

you will wake up sober (at best)

and with your eyes still closed

i fucking hope

that you are struck with

the unrelenting pressure

of a remorse so deep

it cuts you to your very soul

#poetry #writing #prose #trauma #poem #prose poem #prose poetry #re: frank #abuse #alcoholism #alcoholic #alcoholic parent #cruel alcoholic

my 38th hour

in the dark, there are no words

the comfort i seek does not exist

i am just, so very tired

but not enough

to trust you

again

#2022 #prose poetry #poetry #prose poem #prose #poem #trauma #writing #insomnia

et tu

from whom i came?

you would look me in my eyes

and condemn me

for what?

though to be fair

i never even stood a chance

#2022 #poetry #prose poem #prose #prose poetry #recovery #writing #trauma #mother wound

i had a dream and in it my mother was dead.

waking up is always hard with dreams this vivid, scenes entrap me and leave me powerless.

moving to the foot of my bed, i remembered being a child and asking my parents if it was ok to sleep with them.

in my dream my mother was dead and i cried because i would never be able to resolve these feelings.

as a child, i would only come in there room if i had a nightmare. they would begrudgingly allow me to lay horizontal at their feet.

in my dream my mother died and i finally grieved her loss.

i cant keep dragging this dead horse around

im ready to pick up the shovel

#2021 #january 2021 #death #prose poem #poem #poetry #writing #mother #mom

its the first christmas since you’ve been gone

and theres a cold feeling in my chest

in turning my back from the abuse

and the masking and lies

ive been left alone this holiday season

now theres something lacking

and whether its in

the lack of the decorations

the missing tree

the missing presence

the lack of care and the lack of you

or in being pushed out of the family

for my boundaries they left dishonored

and kept out of every holiday henceforth

i wish you were still here to see

your husband is the worst of them all

#christmas 2021 #holiday #poem #poetry #prose #prose poem #writing #trauma #death

I am my mother’s mirror. Reflecting back the image that she could never see. Her flaws and all, laid out for me to repeat.

I am my father’s rage. A trauma he was never able to speak. His gun becomes the tool that he always wanted me to be.

But truly I belong to myself. My body is my home. My reflection tells the future, with my pain almost gone.

#2021 #writing #poetry #prose #trauma #parents #recovery #generational healing #generational curses #generational trauma #mom #dad #autonomy

this pressing ache sits in my chest and it reminds me of every project ive never finished.

the days all pass by in a blur and i cant remember what i did

i’ll be twenty-five years old soon but at times i feel like a child.

i want to go to my childhood home but i know i wont find it.

still repairing the mess from my parents

i hope i dont drown before i can save myself

it would kill me to drag you down

#2021 #poetry #prose #writing #trauma #healing #recovery #dissasociation

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