9,99 €
The book 'secrets of the sun' is a collection of poetry about survival and healing. About the experience of violence, abuse, love and death. It offers insights into the emotional and mental world of those affected. What is it like to live with trauma and its consequences? Each section of the book deals with a different pain. Each section heals a different heartache and serves a different purpose. 'secrets of the sun' takes the reader on a journey through the most bitter moments of life and finds the sweetness in them, because there is sweetness everywhere, if you are willing to look.
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Seitenzahl: 39
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
tw: consequences of childhood abuse, neglect
tw: alcoholism, abuse
tw: childhood neglect
tw: eating disorder
tw: childhood abuse
tw: eating disorder
tw: eating disorder
tw: eating disorder, selfharm
tw: consequences of childhood neglect
tw: abuse
tw: abuse
tw: rape
tw: consequences of abuse
tw: abuse
tw: rape
tw: consequences of abuse
tw: consequences of abuse
tw: consequences of abuse
tw: death
tw: death, suicidality
tw: suicidality
tw: consequences of trauma, paranoia
tw: selfharm
First, I found
my words with a pen
in between the lines of pages,
and I realized how much I had to say,
so I dug up the voice I buried long ago
to speak them
What are memories of childhood
if not quicksand?
Swallowing you whole.
The outside of my house is perfect.
The outer walls are painted in
a bright green colour.
The plants that circle its perimeter
are lush with life and vibrancy.
The roof is sloped, yet stable.
The atmosphere it encompasses
is beautiful.
The inside of my house is damaged.
The inner walls are painted
white and hide secrets
beneath their chipped paint.
The staircase creaks in the right places
to alert those either below or above.
The dining room table
is suitable for eight
but never seats one.
The stained-glass window
features a crack
from an object that was not meant to hit it.
The atmosphere it encompasses
is suffocating with secrets.
Outer eyes see its perfection.
Inner eyes see its destruction.
Childhood is brief
and mine was cut shorter.
An older sister is a mother
when mom can't be home
too busy working,
working, working to the grave for us.
But then I learned
what mom's crying looked like,
learned homework over his yelling,
to keep my pencil steady
as I filled out a multiplication table
despite the tremble of my hand
and that red and blue lights
flashing outside your house at night
can be as common as the stars
when you have a cruel man inside it,
too in love with his bottles.
All these things a child should never learn,
so I learned then to stop being a child.
The problem
with being
brought up
a good christian girl
you learn it's normal
to love a man
who can't say
he loves you
back.
That flicker in his eyes,
the one you thought was love,
turned out to be hell and chaos.
From your lips. To your throat.
To your stomach. To your head.
To your words. To your fists.
That is the path the liquid
takes every night.
When you drink it, it makes you powerful.
When you drink it, it makes you angry.
When you drink it, it makes you forget.
When you drink it, it makes me weak.
When you drink it, it makes me empty.
When you drink it, I'll never forget.
You should
never love
anything
more than
you love
your own children.
You should
never love
anyone
more than
you love
your own children.
- How could you?
I am afraid of love
because I have seen
what it has done
to my mother.
It must be so hard
to love the ones
who are
half of him.
My father made
so many mistakes
but he is just human.
How can I not
keep forgiving
the man who is half of
my word weaving brain,
my belief that anything is possible,
my uncontrollable need to be near water.
I saw vulnerability
drip from
my father's eyes
for the first time
when I was twelve.
I learned the
sweet sick balance of
empathy and blame.
Empathy tugs lightly on my sleeve
and gently whispers in my ear,
"they are struggling too".
I counted fourteen days
on the calendar in our kitchen.
Two trips to the grocery store.
Two loads of laundry.
Fourteen walks with the dogs.
Nine times the sun woke me up.
Four rainy days
stuck in a house
that was not a
home.
I crossed off the
fourteenth day
on the calendar,
and went
downstairs
to read my
siblings
a book before
bed.
Where are you?
My biggest secret
is the broken house
I know as a home.
My biggest secret
is the destruction
that lies within it.
I don't let the suffocating
secrets slip out of the cracks.
I keep them buried.
I am prepared to keep them
buried for the rest of my life.
My friends think
I am busy on the weekends.
My teachers think
I got lazy with my assignments.
My siblings think
I am their parent.
I think
I am a kid.
You fear the violence