Arms

I hold myself at an arms length from emotion

until they, like furious waves, crush me

taking me under their tide

and holding me down.

-

I’m just doing as I’m told

but the fears are overwhelming,

hiding all my feelings

until they become ferocious.

-

I’m just doing as I’m told,

following the rule that I was given,

simply doing

as you said.

-

I placed my trust in your advice

but was shipwrecked by your map.

The trust fall played out above

a pit of spikes and nails.

-

You told us never to cry

but hit us ‘til you said

your hands hurt,

-

not a thought for the

weak body of the child

you used to vent all your frustrations.

-

You requested silence, and I gave it,

saving my wailing until I had reached

‘safety’.

-

I recall many nights spent

trembling in my room

praying that you wouldn’t

appear by the door

and see me in my pool of hurt

nursing wounds which you had created

ready to blame me for

making you inflict them.

-

Stomach pains corrupted.

-

I prayed to waive my feelings

and to toss them away

by any means necessary.

-

All these years on, I repeat

the pattern.

-

When I see you in my mirror image

I remember those nights,

the body remembers the pains

the fears are still present.

-

Your own traumas have become my personal mantra

and I’ll soon spread them, myself, to

the next delicate thing I find,

then hate myself for destroying

something so beautiful.

-

Your shadow on my shoulder,

telling me to continue, telling me

I was on the right lines

for the first time.

-

I was supposed to be held.

-

Instead, your arms became the source of my fear.