BACK TO ME
I have fought, I have struggled.
Cleansed myself from bruises and blood.
Daily I fight the memories no one else will see.
Nights may be harder, with shadows turning to faces of rage.
The wind to shouts of contempt,
Blankets are hands holding me down.
But, hey, you keep your pity.
Do not pour it over my fight.
I pulled myself out, I stood my ground.
And though I may stumble.
I still made it back to me
Poetry