The title is also the precaution I’d like you to take before reading the poem. While this post is fictitious, I don’t know where the line stops. So help me out, okay?
I wrote this because I know how tough it can be with triggers all around you. This post is not going to help heal you but maybe it’ll let you know we all have triggers. If you don’t know what triggers your friend’s bad memory, ask and try to not hurt them. It’ll mean so much to everyone. I hope you like this poem. Enjoy 🙂
Triggers come in all shapes and sizes.
A moving train,
a pizza boy, an autumn leaf,
26 alphabets, crop-tops,
anger, the chains of a swing.
It could be anything.
I could stand at a train station in a foreign country
and see my home on the other side of the tracks
as a train whooshes past.
I could eat a pizza slice
and remember the pepperoni that fell
on my last ‘the one‘s nose.
A falling golden canvas
can remind me of the mountains and seas
I hide inside my scenic heart.
So do my dead mother’s crop-top.
The shouts of the bullies at school often smell a lot
like my alcoholic father.
The chains of the swings look like ropes
and the seats are high enough to keep me hanging.
But that’s okay.
I can deal with a messed up me
but what do I do with a messed up you?
Your eyes are just like my mother’s
but most of your words are new.
You love pepperoni and being careless
but hate pizzas. You cry every monday because
it says so in your ’emotion calendar’.
You remind me only a little but enough of my yesterdays,
it’s as if you time travelled from my past and forgot.
You scream like my dad.
you giggle like my sister.
What do I do when your screams
are loud enough to shatter my glass heart
and your ‘I love you’s become my trigger?
Trigger’s come in all shapes and sizes,
I know because I have plenty,
but why did it have to be you too?