The Lasting Mark (trauma)

The Lasting Mark

Some days I feel better, I feel okay,

Its almost like nothing happened,

And I’m stronger and tougher and proud to say,

That I am over what happened.

 

But sometimes something snaps or a shout is heard,

And suddenly I am eight years old,

And I’m scared and crying form the noises,

And I’m shivering from the painful shock.

Suddenly I am stood in that kitchen,

And the world is collapsing around me,

Insulation fibers and floorboard passing my ears.

I am not proud or strong or tough,

And left sweeping and re-building.

 

By Emma Cunningham

Advertisements

Abstract Poem: Lisa Alert

Lisa Alert 

There’s a girl out there somewhere,

Let’s call her Lisa or Claire or Ruby,

She has long brown wavy hair,

Pink bitten lips from kissing,

And greeny- hazel eyes,

Maybe a necklace or a hat,

She carries a bag of blue or black.

But this Lisa girl is missing.

There’s a man I saw one day,

Darwin? I think I heard him say.

He had velvety chocolate hair,

And a gripping and shocking and white hot stare.

He has a very cloudy head this boy,

A sack of bones that crumbled in joy,

Does he know where Lisa went?

And why or how or are you sure or when?

There’s a young girl that lives near to me,

Mirren she’s called and she’s sure,

“It’s murder is MUST be because,

Otherwise,

We would have found this Lisa girl”,

Her auburn hair dusting her sunburnt skin,

Shoulders rosy with sunshine- peeling with heat.

Jeremiah doesn’t know what’s going on,

“A girl, what girl and where’s she gone?”

He murmurs picking the smooth lemony crunchy daffodils,

he has a daisy tucked inside his cinnamon jacket,

He skips hazily shielding his eyes form the peaceful sun,

6 or 7 or 8 years old,

Sitting about, doing what he’s told.

My name is August,

I am frightened for this Lisa person,

Because no one is out looking for her,

I want to sit by the beck and eat sweet strawberries dreaming of a castle that a princess with icing- pink slippers with sequins.

There’s a girl out there somewhere,

Let’s call her Jane or Poppy or Beatrice,

But

she

is

nowhere

to

be

found.

By Emma Cunningham x