Every Time I Return Home

It is the sound of the toilet flushing;
It is the smell of the sink water
Every time I turn it on to wash my hands and do the dishes,

It is every time my mother sighs;
It is every time I hold in a sigh;

It is the pain of attempting to postpone panic attacks to late and early hours so as she can continue living her delusion that happiness is a location and a choice.

It is the lies;
It is the account of all of the times you tried to tell her but she broke down into incomprehensible confusion before confidently denying that trauma happened altogether (and fully believing it).

It is all of the stages of grief happening at the same time;
It is the memory gaps;
It is the “don’t worry I’m fine,”

And for some with profound luck,
It is the feeling of naked, tainted, ashamed skin-
Trembling-
Every time you shower, pick up a razor, apply lotion, use a tampon, change or undress in any fashion…

It is every time I hold in a flashback,
So bright and blinding-

It…is the trauma, and it greets me with a tight hug every time I return home;

Every time I return home
Is a total solar eclipse.

Out of the Shadows

​Sometimes, the leaves fall off of the trees sooner than they’re meant to;
Sometimes, they’re picked up and swept away by something greater;
Sometimes, we don’t realize that it is the light that hides our scars and lines,
And our courage for stepping out of the shadows is what we should love ourselves for
What happens to us does not define us,
It’s how we make do with the happenings;
And the most beautiful part of him is that he doesn’t think that she is broken;