This week we’re sharing an inspiring piece of poetry from survivor and Glow volunteer Natasha.

Natasha recently completed our volunteer training course and now supports other women on their recovery journey at our Recovery Hub. 

Natasha is a talented writer and created this poem about her experience.

Battlefield, by Glow volunteer Natasha

So, here I stand, once more sword in hand;

And here I stand, head buried deep in the sand;

Preparing for battle, preparing for war;

Because I never know who you’ll be when you walk through the door.

Will you be Jekyll, so sweet and so kind?

Or, will you be Hyde with cruel words on your mind?

I hold my breath, my thoughts are racing;

Trapped inside this hellscape you’re creating.

Now a hateful sneer crawls across your face;

Then vanishes without a trace;

And as you smile your warm embrace;

A smile comes to take its place.

So, here I stand, once more sword in hand;

And here I stand, head buried deep in the sand;

You say I am evil, the devil incarnate;

That there’s something wrong with my mental state.

What did I do? What’s going on?

Now you’re saying I’ve done nothing wrong.

I can’t tell what’s real and there’s no one there.

My glassy eyes can only stare.

Wait, hold up, I’ve hit a brick wall;

I don’t know what’s going on anymore;

With nowhere to turn and no place to run;

I sheath my sword and un-cock my gun.

So, here I stand, no longer sword in hand;

And here I stand head buried deeper in the sand;

My spirit is crushed and on the floor;

I can not take this anymore.

Yet in my swallowed soul a spark is born;

Which frees my tethered heart all tattered and torn;

The bonds of trauma have been broken;

And now I see your kindness is just a token.

My path behind is dangerous and stormy;

The path ahead all dark and thorny;

I take a breath and pick up my sword;

I will not take this anymore.

So, here I stand, once more sword in hand;

And here I stand, head no longer in the sand;

Ready for battle, ready for war;

Ready for you when you walk through the door.

In the dark I take my swing;

Hoping to slay your monster within;

Our words are now weapons as sharp as a thorn;

With every burn and spiteful scorn.

The war is now over, but at what cost?

Is it worth all that I’ve lost?

Was it my fault? Was I to blame?

Were you right when you called me insane?

So, here I stand, once more sword in hand;

And here I stand, trying to keep my head out of the sand;

Pathologized, minimised and told I’ve gone mad;

I’m deluded, I’m lying, it wasn’t that bad.

Who I once was is burned to the ground;

And who I am now is yet to be found;

I fan my flames and as they rise;

A phoenix is born with burning eyes.

I grip my sword, and hold it firm;

And as my fire begins to burn;

I find my tribe, I find my peace;

Destroying my self-blaming belief.

So, here I stand, once more sword in hand;

And here I stand, head no longer in the sand;

My voice is loud, and I shall roar;

“You are never walking through my door!”