POEMS ABOUT ABUSE, HEALING FROM ABUSE, AWARENESS OF AND ENDING ABUSE, SPEAKING UP, SURVIVING DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, FINDING YOUR VOICE,
MOVING FORWARD
HEALING FROM ABUSE
Yes, you can still hurt me,
You can make me shiver,
You can even temporary
deprive me of my dignity...
You can make me doubt.
You can put a knife through my heart.
You can insult me.
You can put me down.
You can call me names.
You can make my tears roll down.
You can make me mute for a moment.
You can make me feel stupid or unworthy.
Yes, you can still hurt me.
Yet, with my tears falling down,
With my heart full of fears,
With my openness held back ,
I AM moving FORWARD!
And you can’t stop that.
Liliana Kohann
©Artpeace Publishing 2009
HEALING FROM ABUSE
Yes, you can still hurt me,
You can make me shiver,
You can even temporary
deprive me of my dignity...
You can make me doubt.
You can put a knife through my heart.
You can insult me.
You can put me down.
You can call me names.
You can make my tears roll down.
You can make me mute for a moment.
You can make me feel stupid or unworthy.
Yes, you can still hurt me.
Yet, with my tears falling down,
With my heart full of fears,
With my openness held back ,
I AM moving FORWARD!
And you can’t stop that.
Liliana Kohann
©Artpeace Publishing 2009
AS MY VISION KEEPS IMPROVING
I see three dimensions
you see only two
I see all colors of the rainbow
you see only blue
I see the heart behind a deed
you see only a deed
I see the flower on a nettle
you see just a weed.
I see the glow around a light
you see only light
I see magic in the night time
you see only night.
I see love in an old man’s eyes
you see just old age
I see pain behind the anger
you see only rage.
As my vision keeps improving,
my horizon clears
You see comfort and convenience
I see, through my tears,
one small thing right by your side,
that I don’t want to see.
It’s been there way too long.
And that thing is — me!
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace Publishing 2003
AS MY VISION KEEPS IMPROVING
I see three dimensions
you see only two
I see all colors of the rainbow
you see only blue
I see the heart behind a deed
you see only a deed
I see the flower on a nettle
you see just a weed.
I see the glow around a light
you see only light
I see magic in the night time
you see only night.
I see love in an old man’s eyes
you see just old age
I see pain behind the anger
you see only rage.
As my vision keeps improving,
my horizon clears
You see comfort and convenience
I see, through my tears,
one small thing right by your side,
that I don’t want to see.
It’s been there way too long.
And that thing is — me!
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace Publishing 2003
July 14, 2019 New video based on a poem/song As My Vision Keeps Improving
YES YOU CAN STILL HURT ME
Yes, you can still hurt me,
You can make me shiver
You can even temporary
Deprive me of my dignity
You can make me doubt
You can put a knife through my heart
You can insult me
You can put me down
You can call me names
You can make my tears roll down
You can make me mute for a moment
You can make me feel stupid or unworthy
Yes, you can still hurt me,
Yet with my tears falling down
With my heart full of fears
With my openness held back
I am moving FORWARD!
And you can’t stop that.
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace 2009
Yes, you can still hurt me,
You can make me shiver
You can even temporary
Deprive me of my dignity
You can make me doubt
You can put a knife through my heart
You can insult me
You can put me down
You can call me names
You can make my tears roll down
You can make me mute for a moment
You can make me feel stupid or unworthy
Yes, you can still hurt me,
Yet with my tears falling down
With my heart full of fears
With my openness held back
I am moving FORWARD!
And you can’t stop that.
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace 2009
OUR LIFE ONCE LIVEDDaunting Romance, Our Game Of Darts, That Lethal Touch - Prized Bleeding Heart. Our Crumbled Home, Destructive Lies, Broken Mirrors And Shattered Cries. Your Toxic Rage, False Sense Of Care, Reflection Through That Wicked Stare. This Gilded Cage, Your Greatest Gift, My Healing Wings Now Soar To Live. DANNY MICHAEL VAILLANCOURT From Montréal, Canada, January 25, 2018 Danny wrote about his poem: "How the darkest days that broke me, would become the ones finding strength that I never knew." |
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Here is a song that I wrote with lyrics based on this poem. It took me forever to produce, as I think I was still going through my own process of healing. |
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DEATH OF A LOVER
|
Your coldness became too cold
your ego too proud your indifference too poignant your silence too loud your emptiness too shallow your selfishness too clear your lack of love too obvious your back bone too sheer your presence too distant your carelessness too deep your ignorance too secure your heart too cheap My love became too lost my self-esteem too sad Your comments too cruel my protection too fat your judgments too loud my own voice way too low your reactions too fast my heartbeat too slow my heartbeat too slow LILIANA KOHANN ©Artpeace 2003 |
I saw the silhouette of a girl
Once I saw a little silhouette of a girl,
curled up by the tree,
near a bed of early spring flowers
Her hands were operating
an invisible world of her own.
A world full of adventures,
heroes, singing, laughter and magic.
A little house made of moss was full of
harmony and life.
In this world she was in charge.
The sun came down.
She left.
I didn’t want her to leave.
I didn’t want to see her at night.
But I saw her.
In a darkened room,
visible under the dim glow of the moonlight,
she lay there.
She was smaller and grayer,
less visible, motionless.
In this world she was not in charge.
They were.
I saw her later, in the pantry,
pounding her head against the wall,
cutting her wrists.
Forcing the pain into
something she could understand.
Then I saw her only once more,
her wrists covered by a scarf,
standing near her beloved father,
with her silent voice begging him to know,
but fearing to say the words.
“Please, Father notice,
notice my pain,
remove the scarf...”
But the father didn’t ask.
I didn’t see her for the next thirty years.
Today I saw her again.
Her silhouette is bigger and more defined.
Her hands are searching for those flowers,
she touches them gently,
with so much love,
and the house of moss...
she smiles as if she saw the distant shape of an angel,
her heart is looking for the sunlight.
She is crossing the line.
She steps beyond her circle,
unsure, uncertain, scared,
but curious.
She is in charge again.
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace 2000
curled up by the tree,
near a bed of early spring flowers
Her hands were operating
an invisible world of her own.
A world full of adventures,
heroes, singing, laughter and magic.
A little house made of moss was full of
harmony and life.
In this world she was in charge.
The sun came down.
She left.
I didn’t want her to leave.
I didn’t want to see her at night.
But I saw her.
In a darkened room,
visible under the dim glow of the moonlight,
she lay there.
She was smaller and grayer,
less visible, motionless.
In this world she was not in charge.
They were.
I saw her later, in the pantry,
pounding her head against the wall,
cutting her wrists.
Forcing the pain into
something she could understand.
Then I saw her only once more,
her wrists covered by a scarf,
standing near her beloved father,
with her silent voice begging him to know,
but fearing to say the words.
“Please, Father notice,
notice my pain,
remove the scarf...”
But the father didn’t ask.
I didn’t see her for the next thirty years.
Today I saw her again.
Her silhouette is bigger and more defined.
Her hands are searching for those flowers,
she touches them gently,
with so much love,
and the house of moss...
she smiles as if she saw the distant shape of an angel,
her heart is looking for the sunlight.
She is crossing the line.
She steps beyond her circle,
unsure, uncertain, scared,
but curious.
She is in charge again.
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace 2000
Invisible me
I wish I could paint,
but I can’t.
Not yet.
My hands...
I have to carry a bag
full of stones,
I carry it upon my back.
I wish I could dance
as I did before
but I can’t.
Someone is watching me.
And I hear the voice,
full of belittlement
“You look like an idiot.”
I bow down as the bag of stones feels heavier.
I wish I could sing
at the top of my lungs
but I can’t
My throat is too stiff
from holding in the tears.
I wish I could run
on meadows I loved
I wish I could climb
my favorite hills
I wish I could simply...
I wish I could feel
I wish I could cry
I wish I could laugh
but I can’t.
In March I died.
Invisible me,
I still walk around.
Unnoticed, unheard.
Some say:
“I think she is gone.”
Yet, sometimes I hear
people walking by,
they say “Look, look over there,
what a (big) bag of stones!”
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace 2000
but I can’t.
Not yet.
My hands...
I have to carry a bag
full of stones,
I carry it upon my back.
I wish I could dance
as I did before
but I can’t.
Someone is watching me.
And I hear the voice,
full of belittlement
“You look like an idiot.”
I bow down as the bag of stones feels heavier.
I wish I could sing
at the top of my lungs
but I can’t
My throat is too stiff
from holding in the tears.
I wish I could run
on meadows I loved
I wish I could climb
my favorite hills
I wish I could simply...
I wish I could feel
I wish I could cry
I wish I could laugh
but I can’t.
In March I died.
Invisible me,
I still walk around.
Unnoticed, unheard.
Some say:
“I think she is gone.”
Yet, sometimes I hear
people walking by,
they say “Look, look over there,
what a (big) bag of stones!”
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace 2000