daily prompt · love · mental health · poem · poetry · recovery · travel

warning bells

i am trying to explain flashbacks to you without sounding ludicrous.
it doesn’t matter this was years ago.
it doesn’t matter that it could have been worse.
the terror lies partly in those coulds,
the insidious possibilities that stole my safety from me.

i don’t know how to explain that i know it’s not helpful.
my panic. my overabundance of caution.
the gnawing reminder that the security of home is merely
an illusion.

i am trying to imagine your response when i tell you
i hold these flashbacks in one hand and positivity in another.
these new traits that cracked my soul and let empathy out.
these memories that finetuned the strings of my street-smarts.

the warning bells might never go away.
and i’m trying to envision how you might
love that part of me too.

{via daily prompt}

daily prompt · love · mental health · poem · poetry · recovery · travel

Like a passport

Who defines the line between foreign and domestic?
Where is the threshold between what is new and what is familiar?
Big men in big houses pick the box in which I fit
Their ambitions pulling the trigger on the gun that
decides if I am allowed to enter.

Like a passport I hold the signs of borders forced upon me
Signs that maintain separation from my neighbours.
My spine worn from the whiplash of being open
stamped
and returned to me.
Whose job is it to determine my worth for entry?

Now I collect stamps with pride.
I’m not the six year old who folded in on herself
after learning her body was not a safe place.
Big men in big houses be damned, I am a miracle
holding a worn spine but still standing.

I define whose stamps adorn me now.

{daily prompt: foreign}floral1