content warning: talkin about emotional abuse

It builds slowly.
A steady incline.
One moment:
everything’s fine.
Then, suddenly,
like shattered glass on the floor,
you’re left with questions,
no answers,
and a world you don’t know anymore.

No self-discovery could have prepared you for this:
marks on your heart,
not the shape of his fist.
There’s hesitation,
and doubt,
and so much regret.
You want to move forward;
you want to say ‘not yet’.

When the dialogue opens,
you’re not sure what to say.
Did you imagine it all?
Can you make it go away?
The tree remembers;
the axe forgets.
You try to move on,
but you’re held back.
Do you call it quits?

The story most people
think of, around you,
is not the story that is
most honestly true.
Truth is subjective,
you’ve learned that in fact,
and when you look in the mirror,
you see what you lack.

If you are just watching
shadows on walls,
then how can you know
anything’s real at all?

And the people who hurt you,
they get away scott-free.
Because nobody listens
and they don’t have to think
about the damage they caused you,
about how you sink.

So you take duct tape
together with glue
and try to piece together
the more-broken you.
Somewhere in distance,
you’ll find you’re okay.
Nothing lasts forever.
Nothing stays the same.