Our trauma is not obvious,

so everyone can know.

It’s usually buried deep inside,

too far to really go.

Jumps up when we are unaware,

and slaps us round a bit.

Dives back before we notice,

it’s always far too quick.

We feel it in our stomaches,

we feel it in our heads.

Never really leaves our mouths,

there’s nothing to be said.

If we knew what it was made of

we would have it in our net.

But moments we remember,

are easy to forget.

And so we keep it buried,

while it’s silent and asleep.

The monster of experience,

the one we have to keep.

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