Trauma Steals Your Voice

Trauma steals your voice

In the most subtle of ways.

A whisper here, maybe there,

And a pinch of “I can't cope”.

Guilt surrounds, an endless

Ocean to bask in,

Drown in.

When you're drowning,

You don't usually die from the water,

But the lack of air.

I have inhaled enough of the ocean

Without having the breath:

My father's hitting,

My mother's screaming,

A slap on the cheek 

And a cut on the wrist.

Maybe a lack of food

For a day or two.

The hate and hate and hate,

But I don't want to hate?

I can't help but love, but God,

I am ever so angry at them.

My childhood stolen, 

My tears hidden,

And my everlasting trauma.

I couldn't ask for help

When I was drowning,

My voice muted and cut out

By the endless waves.

Trauma grasped my voice

And told me I imagined him,

That I was a liar, a bitch,

And a horrible daughter.

Carving ‘Bitch’ into my shoulder

Was my way of staying afloat,

A raft of sorts.

Maybe proof that it was real,

Proof that I was real,

Because my constant dissociative state

Couldn't handle my emotions.

My throat is raw from screaming

And my eyes are red from the heavy salt,

Even now the memories hurt;

I think I need my inhaler but

My prescription ran out.

I can feel the fluid in my lungs and

I am losing my voice, so slowly,

And no one is noticing.