I’m not afraid of you
My struggle with PTSD andThe Truth That Frees Me | written for the “When it comes back” poetry challenge
I push it down to pretend it’s not happening.
The slow slither of ache. The Nagging.
Rumoring,
“You’re finished, thanks for playing.”
You tried before, but it tells you this time is different.
“You’re a goner.
You’re messed up —
Oof—like you’re mother.”
and when it comes back,
It’s persistent. Like, boo!
The PTSD is rising inside, filling up my schedule.
Already penciling itself in even after I said no.
The truth is,
anxiety is a rabid dog,
unpredictable,
yet not insurmountable.
I’ve learned to name it what it is.
What once haunted the edges of me
like the boogeyman
is, in truth,
a slow apprenticeship in endurance.
It is a season
a period of instruction,
an opportunity.
That’s what it really is.
As the moon recedes
and the birds ascend,
so too do I,
not conditionally,
but inevitably.
Everything that enters
festers, develops, concludes;
everything that diminishes
regenerates,
it grows, it blossoms, it molts.
Whether benevolent or malignant,
it will not remain unchanged.
If the earth can alter its complexion
and the ocean’s tide can shift,
if one night holds a sky of stars
and another is devoid of them,
if a creature that abstains
can, at last, consume,
if discarded lilies
I grabbed from a dumpster
can still achieve its bloom..
Then—hey, me too!
Acclimate to the atmospheric shift,
to the severity,
to the blunt and unyielding force of it.
There exists a peace
accessible within such conditions.
I’ve learned this through surrender.
A thousand urgent tasks yell at me,
right this second,
yet I am compelled to write this to you.
Surrender to your suffering. And wait for the day your song returns.
Half the work is already done.
My counselor resides
both within me
and beyond me,
arriving humbly,
as one who once rode on a donkey,
so that I might claim victory
over both spiritual
and physical death.
******************
PHOTOS BELOW ARE LITTLE THINGS THAT ARE PROOF OF CHANGE
About the Creator
Natasha Collazo
Selected Writer in Residency, Champagne France ---2026
The Diary of an emo Latina OUT NOW
https://a.co/d/0jYT7RR
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Poetry Workshop
Previously, I published my first ever exclusive story on Vocal. If you’ve subscribed to my work, then you have access to it. Thank YOU for your support. I hope to make each read worth your while. So with that, I’ll be posting insights for exclusive readers only, such as a workshop on my craft. The hows and who’s of my stories. Pretty much revealing my secrets on how I write with you. So welcome fam, and let’s get started!
By Natasha CollazoExclusive • 2 years ago
GRANDMA NELSON
Daddy pulled off the interstate, and I saw the all familiar red barn, and I knew we had arrived at Grandma Nelson's farm. I always had mixed feelings about seeing my Grandmother. It seemed she had as many Grandchildren as the old Mother in the shoe nursery rhyme. I saw her as different, but that is not why I hestiated. The truth be known I always got in trouble at her house, and ended up sitting in the car after I had been scolded.
By Susan Payton5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
This is truly inspiring, Natasha! Loved all your pictures, pineapple in particular.
Really great entry, Natasha! Loved the voice and the tone that took us through a whirlwind of emotion. I could feel the anxiety returning-- 'Like, boo!' It does feel like that when something you are not necessarily expecting shows up uninvited. Great pic also! I never knew it took pineapples that long to grow. The flowers you save look great. Hope all is well...
Whoaaa, this was so freaking raw, relatable, and powerful! Loved it so much!
Wow… The way you’ve characterized anxiety as this creeping thing that behaves like a snake! Love the way you described its arrival as slithering. Makes the psychological state of worry and doubt feel not only menacing but constricting, almost claustrophobic. And I guess ruminations really can squeeze people into a sort of mental and emotional box. Describing the anxiety as rabid, that feels pretty accurate. The way anxiety is merciless, the way it can’t be reasoned with. The way it can crescendo in pretty explosive ways. But then you revealed the element of trial, and the ways in which this long companion can test and refine your strengths, especially your resilience :) The emotional upturn was extremely effective: realizing that you’ll rise again, like birds, and that change is inevitable. I really like that you used that word specifically. It’s a powerful reminder that the moments or conditions of life that feel so daunting in the moment are more manageable than we might first realize. Addressing the reader directly makes the whole poem feel inescapably intimate and direct, which I think works very well. Excellent take on the challenge, I hope this gets some recognition from the judges :) Also, aside from the writing, I really appreciate the photography. These pics amplify some of the dark, almost gloomy— but still beautiful— imagery and themes in your poem. EXTREMELY cool that you rescued that awesome fish!! I feel like there’s a story there. How did you happen to rescue him? And on Valentine’s Day specifically? Also I have to say I’m really glad you included that picture and the line within your poem about discarded flowers still blooming, after being retrieved from the dumpster! An inspiring mental image— if flowers can achieve so much beauty after being so wasted, how much more beauty can a person achieve! Also, as an aside I happen to be an avid dumpster diver, and I realize I may take this to an odd extreme, but: I hate seeing things go to waste! It’s soul crushing to see how often stuff that could have been given a second life gets dumped in landfills. And the imagery of flowers blooming after they’re removed from the dumpster, that’s like a perfect contradiction of senseless waste. So good on you for rescuing those flowers and good on you for enjoying them :) That’s really great to see!