The thing about dealing with abuse is that
It’s always a losing war
Every victory is small
And every loss substantial

Victory comes in small gestures
In sneaking an extra scrap of food
In one extra swallow of water
In managing a rare good night’s sleep

But loss comes with pain
With marks across skin that will never fade
In sleepless nights so numerous
In the loss of weight
Of sleep
Of comfort
Paid for with blood

More than just the obvious
Are losses that you never knew
That you could never miss
Because they were never there

You have no childhood
No friends
No love
And no home

Perhaps worst of all is the loss of yourself
Which was already so undefined
Drawn in soft geometry
Easily whisked away by the wind

Losing comes with madness
And self-loathing
So that all you can think
Is that there must be a reason
So it must be your fault
Because that’s all you’ve ever known
All you’ve been taught
And all you’ve been told
Forcing you to live in ignorance

And so those small victories you so cherish
Are when you remember your name after having forgot
When you have a dream of a memory long lost
Or when you manage to forget it all

For the abused
True victory never comes
Even if you are saved
Victory is only found
In what we so often take for granted
A sound mind
A bed
A good nights’ sleep
Food
Love

We are all victorious
Who have lived free from abuse
And will never have to live
With the scars suffered
By those who have lost so dearly