Christmas Eve

do you speak your history in the way you move
I am trauma incarnate

I cry in closets and bathrooms and
do not lift my head

I do not want to see their accusing faces
I do not want to respond to their interrogations
I do not exist anymore

every breath is fraught with danger or
the possibility

I anticipate your return every year

your contact

how long will it take until it

starts

Owning your experiences is difficult.

I cringe every time I hear the word

I don't what it to be a part of my story

my life

I can mention what he did

but not what he did

I don't want the memory of you coming into my room at night

haunting me no matter how far away I may get

yet I have it

winding sharp-fanged around my mind

around my heart

I am not worthy of healing