Complex-PTSD

In silence pain is loud,

In stillness, it takes form,

Loneliness, pain’s spotlight in a crowd,

To a life of trauma, I was born.

Pain divides love’s embrace,

It mutes the sounds of desperate release,

Lost, confusion, memories you can’t trace,

Weak grip, is the hand of peace.

But healing is held in a conversation,

Inner child, once lost from her toys,

Quiet validation is listening,

Infant words, rescued from the noise

Light holds the map through the dark,

The shadows carpet the rough terrain,

The compass of bravery my beating heart,

The hero of my story, I became.