Physical wounds leave nothing to hold onto. My skin healed before I did, leaving me with nothing to hold onto, nothing but the memory of the pain and anger. That memory made a home in my head. It dug deep down into it, made a safety blanket in my thoughts, and hid away. Now I can't find it when I look, as though it is a part of me, and not just something that happened to me.
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Growing Out My Hair Again
PoetryA poetry book for people recovering from trauma, for survivors, lovers, and people who aren't sure about their place in the world.
