But why do I still feel like I’m the trap?
Like the chains are off my body
but the weight is still tied to my soul?
Like childhood stacked blocks inside me
and now they’re heavy
and they won’t fucking fall?
Why did I have to grow up like that?
And how—
how do I make sure
they don’t?
Fuck.
How do I live like this?
How do I live knowing that everyone I ever loved
carved something out of me
and walked away with it?
How do I wake up
every morning
not expecting the universe
to swing a fist at my ribs?
How do I stop waiting
for the next wrong thing to go wrong,
the next shadow to sharpen its teeth,
the next door to slam,
the next voice to rise,
the next danger to find me?
Fuck.
How do I live like this—
with the fear that someone, somewhere,
is going to hurt me,
is going to kill me,
is going to prove the past right?
I feel sad.
I feel swallowed.
I feel used.
I feel abused.
Like the world stepped on me
in muddy shoes
and called it character building.
Fuck.
How do I live like this?
How do I feel like something
when I was raised on a steady diet
of “you’re nothing,”
“you’re too much,”
“be quiet,”
“shut up,”
“smile,”
“stop crying,”
“don’t talk about it”?
How do I believe my husband
when he says I matter,
when he looks at me
like I’m worth the sun coming up?
How do I believe him
when the chorus of my childhood
is louder than one man’s love?
How can he be right
when the many were wrong?
When the many made me?
Fuck.
How do I live like this—
trying to love myself
when I’ve put myself on hold
my whole goddamn life?
Trying to build a self
from pieces that were never mine to start with?
Trying to love a girl
I was taught to hate?
I’ve learned everyone is suffering,
everyone is bleeding somewhere,
but fuck—
how do I live like this
in a world
where I still feel like prey?
How do I breathe?
How do I move?
How do I keep going
when the past still fits me
like a second skin?
Fuck.
How do I live like this?
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