Selfish.

Sometimes I feel like I need to share my story,
Like I need to warn my sisters,
Like I’m complicit in what you did
every day that I don’t.

Maybe my story, my trauma, my naked soul
could make a difference
and here I am. Selfish.
Keeping it all to myself. Every last bit of it.
To my lone self.

I know at my core that my heart is worth protecting
but maybe it’s not.
I’ve been wrong before.

I’m a terrible feminist survivor, in fact.
Because I didn’t tell anyone that it was you.
Because I forgave you.
Because I don’t think you’re a monster.
Because I didn’t tell your friends why I stopped talking to them too.

I know at my core that my heart is worth protecting
but my fingers feel dirty, like they’re personally responsible
for whatever fucking-up you do,
every day that I don’t say your name out loud.

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One thought on “Selfish.

  1. Your heart is a treasure for you to protect or spend as you wish. This piece is real, raw, and terribly beautiful. I hope that it’s subject finds proper resolution.

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