Each tick of a box feels like a piece of me is being chipped away
exposed down to my innards and what do they see
there but a child curled up unable to face their questions, their gaze
It all links to that, how I thought I’d overcome the past
by striding forwards without looking back
until I slipped and realised the road I was on was a moving walkway
going backwards to that time
How acutely the pain still shoots through me
the fear striking my voice in two
I have to accept it should never have happened
should never have been and I was powerless
powerless
It’s not a word I want to hold over myself
even my child self
but it’s true
I’m not anymore, but I was
then
And because I could not speak up then
I should at least give myself enough respect
to speak up now.
Treeshallow Musings 