Trauma

Kneeling in a pool of trembling torture,
Stricken on a floor she cannot feel,
Sobbing for the broken child within her,
Bleeding from a scar she cannot heal.

Looking at herself from somewhere, elsewhere,
Fearing each beginning is an end,
Angry in an single searing moment,
Smashing treasured bonds she’ll never mend.

Pacing futile steps with thoughts that trip her,
Sleepless with a dark and friendless sky,
Worthless child, condemned by her abusers,
Whispers to the mirror, “Who am I?”

She is just the cut or burn or stab wound,
Swallowed pills or clenched fist on a wall,
Where she starts or ends lost in confusion,
Maybe she’s not really there at all.