Extracts - Poetry (1)
Poetry featured in the book PTSD.
LET ME BE THERE FOR YOU
(For a friend who has just experienced a traumatic loss)
By Kavita Ezekiel Mendonca
Let me walk you gently
When you can’t take another step
From bed to window.
Let me be your eyes
Bringing you the light of sunrise
When darkness is your companion.
Let me be your ears
When you cannot hear the birds
Only thoughts buzzing in your head.
Let me be your nose
When you can’t smell the roses
Just the smell of loss and death.
Let me be your speech
When the words just won’t come
Tears frozen in stunned grief
Let me pray you into dreams of peace
When you are unable to sleep at night
Like the lullaby of a mother for her child.
If it’s all I can do
Let me do it, silently
Please, let me hold your hand.
ABOUT THE POEM: Sometimes all you can do to help alleviate the pain of sudden loss is to be there for the person. There are many unspoken ways to be present to provide a measure of comfort. Words are not needed in this kind of unbearable grief. Holding a hand, wiping away tears, listening without interrupting or judgement, goes a long way to assuage the trauma. Walking in the shoes of the loved one left behind is to show much needed support and empathy.
ABOUT KAVITA: Born and raised in Bombay, India, and currently living in Calgary, Canada, in a career spanning over four decades, Kavita has taught English in an International School nestled in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains in India, as well as in French and Spanish private schools in Canada.
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JUST A KISS
By Amelia May Hart
It was a kiss
Just a kiss
A kiss I didn’t agree to
But a kiss nonetheless
It was just a kiss
I Say to myself
But I still feel his hand on my head
As he pulled me closer
And my body tensing as I let it happen
And I still remember walking away without saying a word
Because what was the point
I said no
and it didn’t matter
So why would it matter now
Cause it was a kiss
Just a kiss
A kiss I didn't agree to
But a kiss nonetheless
It was just a kiss
I say to myself
But I still think about the fear I felt
When he grabbed my neck
And asked what I’d do if he chocked me out
And I still flinch when his hand reaches near me
Thinking it’ll happen again
And he will do something without my consent
But it was a kiss
Just a kiss
A kiss I didn't agree to
But a kiss nonetheless
It was just a kiss
But what if next time it’s not just kiss
And what if next time it’s more then that
Because It’s never just a kiss
When it comes to consent
And I did not give it
I did not give consent
So he had no right to take my choice away
And to take my ability to say no and lock it in a cage
Because it was not just a kiss
It was assault
And I will never forgive him
ABOUT AMELIA: Amelia is 15 years-old, and lives in Lancashire, England with her mum, older sister and her dog Nala. She has OCD, ADHD and ASD, and has struggled with her mental health since November 2023, which has affected every part of her life. The hardest bit is helping people around her understand what it's like in her head, and how to help her. She has found writing poems helps her express herself, and she like to share them, it might also help other people as she doesn't want other people to feel how she do - it's important people know they aren't alone!
You can read Amelia's other poems: PAY IT FORWARD and THE ICE CREAM MAN in the book PTSD.
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A RAGDOLL’S SILENT SCREAM
By Hollie Dickson
I hate the darkness and silence that is brought on by the night
I lie in bed impatiently waiting for the song of birds and morning light
I feel a little more at ease when I can see the sun
It almost makes the fear of night come undone
The sound of birds pull me back to the present
Again they save me from the recurring torment
There are not many times that a do over was desired
Up until that night I wouldn’t have seen myself as much of a crier
But when I smell cigarettes in the air
I can’t help but feel he’s there
When I feel the coldness of satin sheets
My mind plays out that night on repeat
The strength of his arms pinning me down
The noises that he made that I could not drown
“You like it don’t you?” He said with a hard pull
No words came, a silenced ragdoll and a bull
“Why bother?” I thought, I had already pleaded for him to stop
I pleaded, kicked and screamed but he still climbed on top
I closed my eyes and asked God to get me through to the end
And afterwards with a sick sense of chivalry to me he did tend
He threw me a towel and pulled me from the bed
I will always remember the words that he said
He told me to hurry up and “wash myself clean”
Then he sat on the outside of the door, a hostage in the latrine
I stepped in the shower and washed until the water ran cold
Though his arms were no longer around me I still felt his hold
A large part of me wanted to forget the shower, to run away and hide
But then I found a miraculous strength that came from deep down inside
The feelings of shock and fear were temporarily gone away from me
I held myself together, if only for a moment, and walked with dignity
I walked out of the bathroom and looked him right in his eye
I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that inside I died
He smiled at me and grabbed my face in his hand
He said “thank you for a good time” and down the hall I ran
Although time has passed, I sometimes feel like I am still running away
Away from that night, away from him, and away from what I couldn’t say
To this day the feel of silk sheets and smell of cigarettes
Always take me back to the night I will forever regret
My oasis is the sound of birds singing in my ear
Their melodies remind me that I am stronger than I appear
ABOUT HOLLIE: Hollie is a poet and children’s book author from Jeannette, PA, USA. She has a unique writing perspective as she holds a master’s degree in mental health counseling, and is someone who has been diagnosed with a serious mental illness. Hollie has currently stepped away from counseling and is currently spending her time writing and being a stay at home mom.
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MY WAR
By Roland Wayne Bebler
I don't have tomorrows
I'm still fighting yesterdays
My days and nights are times
Of torture
I seem a maunderer
Incoherently babbling
As I talk to those in my heart
My fellow warriors
Those who didn't make it home
I often believe they were
The lucky ones
Their battles are done
Mine continue
I still hear the bullets
No end is near
My sanctuaries are closed
No place to go
As another night comes
I lay in my home
A cardboard box and trash bags
Wrapped in my blanket
And tears
Diddering
Hoping the rage doesn't come tonight
ABOUT ROLAND: Roland is an American poet whose work has been published and displayed in the US, UK, Nigeria, Canada and Australia. In 2025 his poetry appeared in Anxiety & Depression, as well as in Wheelsong Anthology 6 and 7. He writes for personal reasons and hopes to relate to others.
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NORTHERN IRELAND, ME AND PTSD
Poetry by Paul Parker
A memory with no compassion.
Northern Ireland and me, will always be the haunting
Pulse of PTSD.
Enfolding within a long struggle of the mind accepting
The reality of the intent of something unforgettable.
An unforgettable strand of times past, Yesterday's
Events challenged.
Bearing the soul to a sense of duty to uphold a resistance
To threat and intervention.
Constant vigilance and action created the consequent
Reaction of me and PTSD.
Never knowing why when time went by that a mind would
Receive such delayed reaction.
That wound is forever, no scar resultant.
Just Northern Ireland, me and PTSD.
ABOUT PAUL: Paul is a retired UK Military Veteran living in a village in Shropshire, England, with his wife and cat Trixie. Poetry is a very good way of helping him live with PTSD.
You can read Paul's other poem: IT NEVER GOES AWAY, THE UNWELCOME GUEST, and ACCEPT in the book.
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OVERTURE
By Ted Halm
"You never really recover from losing someone you love."
Tossing and turning in my dreams,
I slept for seven years on the sofa,
finding some solace in the soft cushions.
I’m slowly getting better at sleep;
somnambulant in my new bed.
Is it You?
Perhaps I wasn’t the person you were looking for.
It does take a long time to actually know me.
I’m still trying to find myself
and who I am.
You were someone who wanted to enjoy the finer things in life;
forcing all your longings to the surface,
throwing aside emptiness and sadness,
and seeking serenity in the madness.
And knowing this must end, no matter how deep the seduction.
Why are you wanting to change ourselves,
I once asked when we were together.
I had the answers;
I wish I had had more time.
I must transcend from the ground up
and get-a-way, now and then;
break free from the smirks of strangers
while wandering through crowds, seeing your face.
Accept things as they are,
let go if I can’t control,
discover inner peace by the wayside.
Because, after all, I am a big person now,
and ready to face the failure I felt, in this,
the hole where I live.
Where I found you defiantly in the corner of the cellar,
and the note you wrote that was torn from your heart,
falling to the floor just a few inches below
the dangling and stretching of your skeletal feet.
ABOUT THE POEM: Overture is the lament of a suicide survivor suffering the effects of PTSD and mired in his living nightmares.
ABOUT TED: Ted is an author of short fiction who has retired to write full-time from his home in rural Michigan. He had a 40-year career in university relations as a writer, broadcaster, and webmaster in Big Rapids, Michigan, winning 10 national awards for his publications. His writings examine characters searching for their identities and a brighter path, while coping with depression, despair, and loneliness.
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HOMELESS SOLDIER
By Johnnie Dalton
When the last light of the day fades away,
As city lights flash and glow
Nowhere to go.
No place to stay.
Not much to say.
An alleyway or doorway.
It was never meant to be this way
A soldier.
One hailed as a hero
Each has story to tell.
How they finished up in this living hell
People pass by.
No one stops to ask why.
Theirs was a duty to do or die.
As they saw comrades die.
Medals once worn with pride.
In doorways and alleyways they hide.
Service to a nation done.
Forgotten now.
Who cares.
Who dares to care.
ABOUT JOHNNIE: Johnnie is an ex Soldier, which is what really inspires him to write - he has seen these issues first-hand.
You can read Johnnie's other poem: WHEN WAR IS NO MORE in the book.
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