We had a fight about abuse
And not about it in a way.
We talked of how I functioned as a person...,
If abuse got in the way.
Performance lack had made her mad
Frustrated, she had said
That I forgot...too much...too many things.
Was I mad at her?
Forgetting to get back at her for something she had done?
I do forget, I will admmit...I'm getting old
But not on purpose
Not for that
And child abuse gets in the way.
"You think about it every day?" she asks.
This week I cried in front of her for the first time
She said it helped
She doesn't though...she doesn't understand.
It fills my mind when I'm alone.
And every day I use my will
To stay at home
And not to run to God knows where
Where it won't hurt
And I won't think
A desert place, where no one lives
But then eventually I'd have to live
To find a job
And deal with life
And life's the same no matter where you run.
Think about it every day?
It permeates my soul
Not thought exactly...more like mood
An entity that rules my mind.
Maybe...for indeed it does possess my life,
At least for now.
If anything, it is obsessed with me
It hangs around and will not go.
I never really am alone
It's always here...my constant friend
On journeys dark and painful to the past.
Some day, I hope it won't be here
The thing that is, and I'll be free.
God, I wish I were.
For now it seems
Remembering is nearly all I do.
I'm healing now, and I wasn't sure I would.