Again of Truth and Trauma

You cannot hold the truth down, and trauma will always remain and return.
The truth is people change. Sometimes it's temporary, others it's not.
It does not change that they've changed, that you're allowed to be repulsed when they become another familiar stranger.
The people you love the most can forget you exist entirely the moment something that fulfills them more comes along. Trust me, I've been replaced enough to know the feeling.
What's worse, you cannot say a word on it.
You are not allowed to ask for help.
You are not allowed to grieve what you never processed.
You are not allowed to be honest.
You just have to go through the motions expected of you and hope nobody wants the truth. Hope nobody pulls the truth from the hot and murky waters of hurt that they caused.
Hope nobody sees that you're away in your head.
You are not allowed to exist freely. Not allowed to speak.
No, you just have to sit and watch the mania unfold, sit and watch the people you love bend and warp under the weight of their own delusions.
Watch them hurl blame at situations arising from their actions. Watch them hurt the people you agree with, watch your family fall apart.
You have to watch yourself become an outsider... and you're expected to embrace it.
You're not allowed to be angry or bitter, you are expected to drink the Kool-aid, you are expected to change yourself to a fundamental level and throw away your real passion for the sake of a simpering person you once revered. You are expected to change for the worse to fit in.

You are expected to look the reason in the eyes and love it when your core screams in hate.

You are not allowed to be human and you are explicitly forbidden to just avoid the whole mess.

So forgive me if I'm done and tired and the tears are nowhere near done drying.
Forgive me if I hate who you have become.
Forgive me if I have failed your happiness.

Or don't.

That works too.

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.

Fossils; Truth

You can't bury the truth.
You can't keep it down.
You can hold the truth under until the bubbles stop, you can sink it in the river, but truth, truth never dies.
The truth will never stay hidden.
You can take truth to the grave, but in time you will surface, and spoken or not, that truth will rise with you.
Fossils, long dead truth buried millennia, thousands, billions of years, and still, still they surface, fossils; pure testaments to truth and time.
I am no fossil, I am angry, I am here, I am alive!
I will not go quietly. I will scream my truth, oh heathen, oh whore, to the sky, to the world, the crowd, the universe, I will bleed you dry of sin and leave you an ambulatory corpse.
I am here, I'm not hiding, I am the phoenix, I am burning and the truth will find you. Deny me til your dying breath oh Pisces Heathen but I will drown you in the air.
Bring me, Virgo, to a fistfight, go ahead. Come to me coward and fight, lest I bring it to you.
You who chose to tempt and twist me, oh the cold frigid bitch I have become, I will speak the truth of it; you're going down.
You’re broken; a broken, foul mind has slithered down my skin the
Last
Time.