And as the bombshells of
my daily fears explode they
hurtle into me with the
exact force of
her fists and leave
bruises, invisible (this time) and
knock me down until I
am drowning under
the waves and I
can't breathe under
the weight of all
these memories because as
the bombshells of my daily
fears explode I know how to
trace them right back to
my youth and I am
scared of still
being young.

Years later, after you think
you've outrun all your past fears,
you will find yourself sitting
on the edge of your bed,
unable to stand up and face
the world. It's been years
since it happened, since she last
exploded and you let yourself
come close enough to feel
her shrapnel burn through you, but still
you're huddled on the edge
of your bed, scribbling desperate,
terrified words into your notebook
unable to go downstairs
because she is still there.

Is this it, is this
the final sign that I am
damaged beyond repair? Not
only am I now scared
of her blows, I'm sitting
frozen in the middle of all
the what-ifs. These cuts
you riddled me with in
great swathes of pain, aren't
healed as I thought they were, they
are now bleeding and
stinging me years later. Learning
that you are so much weaker
than you thought and so
much more broken makes
you ask whether
you will ever
be whole.