So like…it’s not a poem exactly….but…it is? I’ve written it like I’m performing it on stage….if yall like this, I can do more of these along side my blog posts…..
[Opening, center stage, quiet, tense]
[lights dim, buzzing of electric lights, a cough in the dark]
It’s hard to trust. [Pause, inhale sharply] …after the lies. …after the betrayals. [Look down, shoulders tense]
The insecurities— [Lean forward slightly, voice low, trembling] the ones I swore I killed— crawl back out of their graves.
The intrusive thoughts— [Shake head slowly, voice rising] they don’t whisper. They scream. [Beat, pause for effect] They echo until my head feels like it’s splitting.
And the panic attacks— [Clutch chest lightly, inhale sharply] they come in waves. Unforgiving. Unrelenting. [Step back slightly] Stealing every breath like they own me.
And then— [Freeze, tense, whisper] the second-guessing. Of everything. Of everyone. Of myself.
I thought I buried it. I thought I was stronger. I thought I left it behind.
But then— [Look up suddenly, voice breaking] you return.
And suddenly— [Hand to chest, shake lightly] the wounds rip open. Raw. Bleeding. Burning like they never healed at all.
Memories I never asked for— [Step side to side, pace slightly] slam into me like fists. Like ghosts that won’t stay dead.
And I slip. [Drop slightly onto knees, voice soft] Back into old coping habits. Withdrawing. Hiding. Bottling everything inside.
Until one small thing— [Look to audience, wide eyes] something no one else would even notice— becomes world-ending for me.
Survival mode. Switch flipped. Numb. Cold. Automatic.
And the nights— [Voice barely above a whisper, clutch pillow or imaginary object] the nights are endless. Tears soaking pillows. Questions clawing at my chest.
Why did you hate me? Why did you hurt me? Why did you ruin me? [Repeat, voice rising, almost a scream, step forward]
Over and over. Until the questions start sounding like blame. Until I start blaming myself.
And my throat— [Clutch throat lightly, look down, pause] it’s burning. Words stuck. Sharp. Jagged. Begging to be screamed.
But nothing comes out. [Look away, voice breaking, shake head] Because even if I said it all— even if I demanded answers— I wouldn’t believe you.
You could swear you’ve changed. You could swear you’re different. But your words— [Lean forward, intense eye contact with audience] they’d taste like poison.
I can’t see proof. I can’t feel proof. And without proof— I’ll never trust.
So I stay stuck. [Slowly pace stage, hands loose at sides] Suspended between silence and rage. Between the desperate urge to forget— and the agony of remembering.
Between the hope that maybe—just maybe— [Pause, breathe, tilt head slightly] you’ve changed.
…and the certainty [Long pause, stare into distance, whisper, soft] that you never will.
[End, stand still, breathe, let the silence land]
