The Latest Poem From "Violations Of Black"

Lately, I have been asking myself, "how do I leave those dark spaces people invite me into?" When people pour their souls out in a moment that has every indication it's desperate, it's painful, and it's paralyzing, how do I as the listener offer myself to listen, and yet be strong enough to be a source of dependability all while being able to separate myself from it all? I was recently counseling someone who shared with me some horrific details of what's going on with their life, and those details played on my emotions for weeks. Obviously my life is not theirs, but it was if I was living in those details because I was trusted to be there. What helps me realize that I don't have to keep pushing the play button is to simply pan back the lens, and see it for what it all really looks like. When someone is paralyzed by a trauma of the soul, I can be there, but I don't need to stay there. I can pan the lens back and see that the real possibilities to heal are grounded in hope itself. And I find this helpful for my own sense of frustration, but moreso with people who see no possible future. This poem from "Violations Of Black" definitely approaches a trauma from someone desperate enough to seek out a listener yet, the listener wants to empower the seeker to see beyond that tunnel vision and focus on what is possible.

secondary trauma

10.26.09

living with the violations and dark places of others,

the mind takes on a variable shift of emotional release.

it goes from hurt, elation, regret, to recompense.

the swirling of thought, words, and momentum take their place.

it’s as if it all comes in way too fast to safely land in the head.

it slows the pace of control into a display of disconnect replayed.

yet, the words keep coming….they don’t stop for lack of indifference.

they play out like an all too familiar horror story between

the innocent and the monstrous antagonist who wants nothing

more than to hijack trust for their own demented satisfaction.

it leaves the listener in a position of vulnerability to which

there is no viable strength on which to lean or embrace.

yet, that’s not possible nor are the defenses defiant.

others have no possible inclination of the images,

or the motivations, or the insidious reasoning people carry with them.

carrying the day to day tension between life and death,

between peace and hell, between love and hate—

it all recalibrates the inner-compass slightly so that it points inward.

the surface is broken with the things disliked to begin with,

and it all struggles to tame the depressive spiraling, day from day.

it breaks the surface to reveal the unlikable, the unspeakable,

and the irreversible scarring of fragility uncared for.

when is it permissible to allow the words to stop being heard?

when is it permissible to stop envisioning the images that are shared?

yes, to live there is to believe the secondary trauma is owned—

perhaps by the listener more so than the owner.

God forbid, the danger lies not so much in listening to it all,

but believing it’s all up for grabs, to be sold to the less fortunate,

or to be sold off to the less faithful who disavow the power of forgiveness.

the listener is left to hold onto the pieces, the fractures of another person

who trusts just enough to invite and share the macabre and grotesque.

it’s as if the momentary is invited to be become a permanent fixture,

rearing the ugliness inherent in its structure from beginning to end.

but by some chance or fate, the silence topples the conversation

and it exists as nothing more than a pile of ruins with shards of emotion

or broken concentration fallen from the many lips too tired to speak or cry.

desperation lingers strong in the thick of temporary amounts of time…

answers simply do not appear by way of bearing the soul’s pain.

but the balms of empathy and compassion appear from nowhere

and with their purpose, they drench the weary to feel again.

isn’t that the time honored necessities for hope to take shape once again?

from such darkness, hope is the only light that points a way out…

it is the only choice that makes sense in a senseless battle for the wits end.

hope for all its purpose and intent, is defiant in the face of possible surrender.

it’s very power to believe is reason enough to hold on for a better day.

the enemy seeking vengeance in the mind is released to die.

hope in the darkest of place and in the violation of spirit,

lives in the wide open wonder, questioning how much can one take?

hope becomes the only strength to decide here is where it ends…

here is where life begins with optimism in spite of such odds.

life is lived another day and that in itself is beautiful.