Fossils; Trauma

Like truth, trauma is a fossil. A long dead thing that will not stay buried, hurried to the surface as we try to wash away the dirt of our lives, but stone remains. Stone remains and truth prevails to bring you down.
Trauma and Truth, the two great fossils in life, once flesh and blood, fighting against your roots only to be reclaimed. Trauma, the long dead beast, once able to rip you apart now merely an obstacle while you try to dig your new garden.
Truth risen and exposed, ugly before the sun, even blasted clean. Truth was never pretty in the flesh, it's only later where the beauty of it is seen. Trauma was never pretty, was never soft, never gentle.
Trauma was a great beast that would swallow you whole, trauma is still an ugly beast down to bone, broken and healed over.
Trauma is spent life in shaking hands, screams raw in your throat.
Trauma is the towel thrown out instead of in, trauma is truth buried to forget in the valley…
I would know.
I am stronger, I rose, I reclaimed those stone bones and made them mine. I reclaimed my grief, but the truth… the truth…
I'll dig up others before I bring the towel in.
To speak that truth is harder than my trauma… that trauma, you could argue it to be truth unspoilt.
Truth is hard, truth is painful, truth is a phantom, returning to haunt your night with wails and screams. Truth is in everyday life, truth is bubbling to the surface… and I'm never going to be ready for it.
Trauma is vowing to buy your childhood home, to reclaim your roots and build on the trauma exposed and make it yours. To keep hidden that ugly truth, keep the towel out.
Trauma is your mother asking hard questions, and a tight voice begging her not to make you answer.
Trauma is a piece of yourself given away to a temporary friend two years ago to the day. Trauma starts with connection, disconnection. Trauma starts with two and leaves one.
Trauma is a fight, waking up like Macbeth to scrub your hands clean of what's no longer there. Trauma is a new ring on your hand, trauma is no ring at all.
Trauma will not stay buried. Trauma is beaten by acceptance, by the fight you put up.
I am not my trauma. I am the fight I put up.
I am not the fight that knocked me down, I am how fast I get up, how hard I swing back, I am the one that survives and I am the one that walks away.