The Past Poem by Cynthia Ramos

Sometimes I think about the future
and more often than not,
I think about the past.

No matter how hard I try to think of the good,
a blur starts to take control.
A blur that terrifies me.
Showing me pieces of a distant memory.
One that I try to avoid.

All I hear is screams.
Horrifying screams because of immense pain.
Pain that can traumatize one's soul.

Pain that I endure everyday.

I try to go to facilities for help.
Help that never seems to come to my rescue
because there are still the nightmares.
Nightmares that don't want to cease.

Waking up each day is a blessing and a curse.

I can't help but scream.
And when I do, I just wake to darkness.

I make an effort to rest my eyes,
but I always see your hand each
time I blink.

I close my eyes for a second
and I feel the pain.

The pain of abuse.