Me

She raises the topic

Again and again

Of the real me

That hides inside.

The thought carries

No pleasantries

As that living

Feeling thing

Is a scarred and beaten

Frightened and tortured 

Bereft little child.

I have hidden it 

Down darkest halls

But still it symbolizes

What went wrong.

Let’s not bring up

That topic again.

Lest I tear my own

Heart out

And stomp it.

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Filed under poem, poetry

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