She used to think that she was different than the others.
That she was the lucky one.
Because she hadn’t let it get to her the way that they had.
She’d learned to dissociate.
And that felt like a superpower of sorts.
It felt like she was indestructible.
Nothing about it had altered her, had destroyed her.
They were broken down by it, stripped of everything…
And because of it, they crashed and burned.
All at once.
Not her.
Her pain stood on reserve,
waiting for the perfect moment to creep up on her,
when she least expected it.
And so it lingered within her for months, for years,
until it couldn’t anymore.
The power she’d felt had evaporated.
Everything built up, ready to explode.
The pain… it always catches up.
About the Creator
Love Odessa
Dreamy poetry about girlhood and the complexities of being a woman.
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