Drowning

I hear the ocean
rushing to my ears
in between each
p u l s a t i n g
throb
and I bite down
hard
on my lower lip
to stifle the scream.

the world spins
leaving me
o
f
f
balance
as my nails dig
small trenches
into my palms.

eyes hot with
unshed tears
b l i n k
back pictures I can't
unsee
and I stumble over
the broken pieces
of my mind,

s a t r d
c t e e

like tombstones
in a graveyard.

a burning in my chest
reminds me -
b r e a t h e
but I've lost the
instruction booklet
and can't remember
what to do first.

I'm d r o w n I n g
in memories
I didn't ask for,
as high tide
submerges
the chalk outline
of my strength.

but b u b b l i n g up
from a waterlogged
mind is the beginning
of a new idea.

like a line drive
In baseball, it's
powerful,
penetrating,
piercing
in its
single-
mindedness.

it wears the face
of someone pushed
too f a r
too o f t e n,
hurt too m a n y times,
and in a low voice
it whispers
no

no more believing
what happened to me
was my fault.

no more walking on
eggshells to protect
my abuser's reputation.

I may not be able
to stop the flashbacks,
stop the panic attacks,
but I can stop being a
v I c t I m
and become a
S U R V I V O R
that he can not silence.

preacher needs to
invest in some new
shock absorbers
for this news.

it's going to be
a b u m p y r i d e.