New girls, old stories.

Tuesday was

Tough                   as I saw

Traumatic eyes

What had they been through,

To take out the light?

 

Thinking about it now makes me,

Numb.

Like stepping into a frozen bath,

A bath their childhood was created in.

 

Blacked out eyes,

Broken bones.

These are not the structures of a home.

 

What do they think of me?

As I enter the room

How do they imagine my life?

Glamorous?

Luxurious?

Easy?

 

My eyes assure them it’s not

But I know, that is is.

 

What do they see?

When they look at me?

 

White skin

Blue eyes

Nice clothes

Clean.

 

Do they see my past?

The punches?

The screams?

The fear?

Or has my mask covered it all?

 

Do they see independence?

Happiness?

Freedom?

Self-contentment?

Good.

 

One day they’ll enter the same room

New girls,

Old stories,

Yet,

They’ll see what I see,

Hope.