Dark Secrets-Do you know me?
Brunus Edwardii  © 2002

Dedicated to child abuse survivors everywhere.

Are you sure you care to know me?
Even the heaviness of my shame?
Imagine innocence bleeding,
Then you will understand my name.

Have you given thought to question;
From such, this venture you would gain?
A tortured knowledge, bound up in flesh,
From haunting lessons, drenched in my pain.

Why would you care to know me?
Even the horrid terror of my dreams.
Imagine a fist thrust down your throat,
Then you will hear my silent screams.

Have you given time to listen
To what is silently crying from inside?
When I lose my sense of direction
Can I find, in you, a safe place to hide?

Do you really care to be so close to me?
Know the odor of my breath?
Imagine the stench of fresh road kill
Then you will know, I smell of death.

Have you, like I, given your heart's blood?
Caressed the rhythm of its beat?
Even embraced the core of emptiness;
Have you surrendered to its searing heat?

Do you really care to know me?
Even the boundless dark secrets of my fear?
When human touch feels like a burning brand,
Then you will know what brought me here.

{"Dark Secrets-Do You Know Me" is 2001 © copyrighted and is the sole possession of the writer using the above pen name. It is published under the true name which is changed to protect the writer}

My "Family" and I came across this web page after one of my questions from a chat room was posted. So much of what I have read fits me and I can very much relate. It also offers a glimmer of hope for me. One of my "little ones" wrote this poem as she related our story:

Sandcastles
built by children
stand proud before the shore
each day they are pounded
wind and rain hollow them out
the surf comes crashing
sandcastles
built by children
fade into the sea.
-Autumn

On anorexia
Submitted by Kellie

through hollow, disillusioned eyes
i attempt to find myself across the room
in a mirror that tells the truth
of what i am, what i've become
or should i say what i've come down to...
dignity shredded by others' eyes
my goal no longer is what i wanted
only what i settled for
i'll keep wasting away because i should
should "i" even call "myself" human anymore?
there's not much left to even look at
i still feel the blood running through my veins
and my heart pounds out of my chest
but there's not much more of me than that
i'm dissolving into myself
you can see the shapes of my bones
  through my skin
because that's really all that's left
soon you'll just be able to blow the rest of me
off your sleeve, 
or wherever i may still be of annoyance..
there's no soul left because i feel no more
should i care that no one else cares?
i don't even if i should
so i'll make my "presence" known
by my absence
and fade into the blur that you never really see
just call me nothing anymore
because that's what i soon hope to be...

written by an anorexic alter named "dusty"

Share your poetry

  Your poems here!!!!

Your poem does not "have" to relate to your experience as a multiple.  Most of the poetry I have is actually just very vivid and description ideas and thoughts and beautiful words.

Becoming One 

Oh, why does it hurt so?
To grow in the know,
Of me.
The beauty I see only hurts,
when coupled with the brutality
from those whose thirsts
drenched me in darkness...
Unable to see the beauty of me,
thru the frightness of you.

Confused and alone, 
I began to bemoan
believing it true, 
I was just like you.
The truth was a maze, 
set upon in a craze,
scattered about it was Me, 
for all to see.
Shimmering bright in the darkness,
unaware of my light, 
only blinded by plight.

 stumbled upon a path, full of wrath
for my pain, 
and began to refrain...
For the light of my soul bent down in the rain,
And plucked me out of my pain.
Giving peace to my soul,
restoring my pieces to whole.

     Jenn
         aka
     KellyB (Just a pen name!) ; ) 

Chuckles the Clown 
and Charles Edwards
Submitted my Emily

Surrounded by an audience
Dim Lights
Focus on one figure
Laughter rises
The clown performs
Tumbling, rolling,
Jumping up and down
Covering the encircled platform

Finished now, he
Kneels on one knee
Fist clenched
Pounding the floor
The crowd rises
Laughing, applauding.

The crowd is gone now
The clown, alone
Sits on the old worn bench
His shaking hands
Hold up his heavy head.
He stands,
His makeup streams silently
From his eyes that stare
Into empty benches.

He snorts a quick,
Disgusted laugh,
Turns,
And listens to his footsteps
Echo in the corridor.......

Omar 1976

A few years back I experience an earthquake that triggered a member (an alter) and some very disturbing memories.  February 2001 I experienced a 6.8 earthquake.  While I was extremely frightened at the time I have been able to process the emotions.  Nothing was triggered this time.

Coincidental, though, that I found this poem at this time. I wrote it when I was in a creative writing class in high school.  To my knowledge I had never experienced an earthquake prior to this writing. I thought I would share.  Emily

And then.....

Above the horizon the sun stood sparkling
Spreading gold across the rich lands
The swarming people tended daily duties.
Tall buildings arched into deep blue skies
above small shacks
on small developed streets.

The earth rumbled.
The small cluttered shacks shook
Dust rose.
The shacks collapsed, and
windows shattered.
The tall buildings leaned 
swaying back and forth.

The earth opened
swallowing screaming bodies,
tall buildings and collapsed houses.
Power lines burned wooden structures
as they
towered down on helpless humans.

The the rumbling stopped.
The earth became still again.
Birds' song could be heard
along with cries
of scared children.