I see bits and pieces of my story
slipped back to me.
I am face to face with a reality that is too close to mine.
This is not an easy thing to digest.
My shattered self
only just beginning to come back together
breaks.
I want to stop watching
and I want to keep going.
I feel connected
and altogether alone.
My mind refuses to slow down
and my body refuses to forget.
I am back in his car trying to leave.
I am back on the bed, scared.
I am twelve and walking home from school
past catcalls and marriage proposals.
I am seventeen
his hand tight around my wrist
telling me to walk away with him.
I am a myriad of stories I wish I hadn’t lived
and a compilation of experiences
that could have been worse.
I keep watching.
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