My therapist called today.
My appointment has been canceled.
My first thought? “Ironic.”
My luck has been **** lately.
My limits, tested.
My self esteem, drained.
My trauma, denied.
My thoughts wander — to a dream I had once — during my “service.”

I wake up in my squad bay, alone drenched in sweat
I hear a woman wailing from the bathroom
I run in — there’s blood, over flowing from the faucet, shattered glass blankets the floor
I look into the broken mirror, and see nothing reflected back

                                                           ­ ---
                                             On a swampy night
                                       the woman inside me cries.
                                          —Part of me has died.

                                                            ---­