A poem about the vulnerability of "sharing" or "telling"

Started by BecomingMe, April 08, 2024, 09:02:31 PM

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BecomingMe

I write a lot of poetry. Mainly because I still find it really hard to actually speak about some of the things I went through. One week ago I shared a very explicit/descriptive poem with a close friend as a way of sharing. I asked their permission first and did warn them about the nature of it and their response was very compassionate but I had a MASSIVE vulnerability hangover (as Brene Brown calls it! ;) ) For some reason, writing a poem helps me to work out my thoughts/feelings and this is what "came out" the day after I shared - just to give some context!


AFTERMATH
I'm scared! Actually PETRIFIED – is a more appropriate word!
I'm a grown woman now so that may seem quite absurd
But that eight-year-old child still lives on in me
And the fear is still overpowering – because she's trapped there, you see

The flashbacks are still coming – with such detail and clarity
And it's hard to stay present; it's like virtual reality
My brain FINALLY UNDERSTANDS that it's a memory – nothing more
Still the emotions overwhelm me, however much I implore

It was too dangerous to express them so they've remained trapped within
But I can't seem to release them; they feel completely "locked-in"
They've become so strong over time, like they've been amplified
And I'm "waiting for reprisals" and being told I have lied

I have the STRONGEST urge to lift up my arms in defence
There's no-one here to fight off so it doesn't make sense
Still I'm preparing for the slaps, the contempt and the blame
Is it any wonder I am so full of shame???

Maybe THAT FEAR just needs a way to release
The road feels so unstable on this pathway to peace
I UNDERSTAND it's a false fear and its time to find my voice
I must speak up for that child – because she NEVER had that choice

It's scary to "tell" and I know it's hard to hear
But it needs to come out so I'm over-riding this fear
If you read my story I beseech you – please be gentle and mild
These memories still belong to an eight-year-old child