The Swan Egg (Healing from Childhood trauma)

A fork.
A fork, cup, pan, 
and oil. Basic essentials to make
A perfectly fried egg. Ohh and heat.
 Maybe some salt if you like to tantalize
the taste buds, we are so eager to please.
Those of the gentler species would see mishaps,
Well, the speckles of the shell, the freckles if I am 
Myself am kind, as great necessary imperfections … 
They lead to some grandeur of beauty, a necessary evil
 BREATHE That leads to unique. BREATHE
Something to be admired, treasured despite its shortcomings
To be as truly beneficial to humans to distinguish one chicken egg
from the other. The devourer knows no difference to appearance –
it is bestowed on him by grace of an upset stomach.
Regardless of unique under the bosom of the mother the egg finds shelter.
 A place both love and joy feed of each other in the warmth of a Mother.
 A sweet-sweet innocence. 
The difference between a child of a chicken and that of a tiger.              
            Or are you lion, that I am an enemy. Your seed who dares to breathe. Mum…               
                  I know not what I have done. I see your pain as you take claim of someone’s son.                
                  I felt it edged into your back, where you cradled my hot tears till I slept.                               
              An open wound my resemblance tore apart as it dug deeper into the                                
 Dreams unmet.                                                               BREATHE                           
                A place where time stopped, and all pain was erased.                                                  
                 Where nights on the cold hard floor were no more.                                        
                     Why is it you hurt me?                                                              
Screams still ring loud, echoed louder by the hands that touch me.
Will you ever stop? I now I will lose you...
And now I, stand with feet worn down, frozen by the pale Tiles 
I now call home. It is here that I miss you most, hunger deep
With an cracked egg in one hand, as my memory
 Serves me another dose
BREATHE                 Of your smile.            BREATHE    
A pain I know no end of. Love and hatred are common folks. Kind.
But strangers to peace, when they are allies. It is way easier to 
Hate you, than it is to accept the burden your partner has left.
You gave me life, shelter, and an education. At times you
Would lay with me as sickness engulfed my small body
In flames. I heard stories of your sleepless nights, when
You knew not of my return. Baby after baby. Dead.
As you watched other mothers cry next to you.
   And in return I give to you …
Blood now covers the portion my finger
Covers, as part of its shell pierces my
But who am I to complain, When you? 
Ohh Helen, dear Helen of Troy. 
Shared a womb. Mother-
Unknown. Born in an

This poem is the poem that inspired my collection the Unheard. How does one heal from childhood trauma? Get rid of the feelings of regret and shame and cope with the emotions that come with the process?

What does one do when all they feel is being lost? When they just want to just jump and be over and done with it. Months leading up to writing this poem I had been attending therapy sessions, and working on my mental health. One topic I never wanted to broach was that of my childhood and my relationship with my parents.

Though, I was making progress, the question was how to broach the topic. How to explain to friends I needed a break. When on dates, how to explain my family dynamic when I myself had no clue. In one therapy session I just started crying. Sometimes you just want to laugh with your mum about a terrible date. I could not do that. Feeling all these feelings, feeling anger and love towards someone you knew since birth. How does one accept that. Feeling hurt but ashamed.

I still do not know where I am. Where to go, and how to move forward. Its no solution, but I am now comfortable knowing its okay I feel stuck in the middle. I am still healing and peeling away the effects of childhood trauma in my adult years. I guess it’s what matters the most.

For more poems on the topic click here.

For more information on how to heal from toxic parent child relationships here are a couple of good resources

Betterhelp, Healthline

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