My body keeps the score as it remembers driving down the country roads to another report of in-home domestic violence.
My body keeps the score as I urge it to forget its suicidal impulses, driving down the roads that started and ended my days walking through hell.
My body keeps the score so that my knuckles turn white on the steering wheel as I rush faster down the highways and remember your degrading words.
My body keeps the score while it cries the tears for the emotions and pain that it needed to let out earlier.
My body keeps the score because it remembers you. It remembers your hands on me and your kisses on my cheek. Remembers the fear, the black hole that my heart fell into when your venomous words could hit out of nowhere
My body keeps the score when it desperately wants to forget while the waves of my thoughts are being challenged by the hurricane of emotions.
But my body drove me 6 years later down the same highway, seeing the same ditches and billboards pass by as I urged it to forget swerving to the right. Because my body remembers.
YOU ARE READING
Processing
PoetryA collection of poetry across ages, moments, and confusion. Tw - read at own desire
