to the standoff outside the bus stop

I remember the anger boiling in my stomach

I never truly understood the meaning of an emotion physically in motion until that moment

But in that moment

blood thicken and churned

skin rustled like bracing-for-it metal

There was a vileness forming in the pit of bile

And I was fearful

Truly fearful

That if I crossed that line

If my fist would make contact

with your skin

If my anger would make contact

with your rage

I would not be able to stop myself

Because you

Could not stop yourself from dinner table insults

Smashing plates as metaphors for putting your foot down

Because you

Had to make my sweet friend choose between disappearing themselves just to shield their younger brother from all

your anger and

your fear and

your rage

Because you could not care

about your child’s life as it interfered with your ideas

And you

Were not there in their broken and bent and absolutely terrified-to-exist moments

Not when we stuffed as much of their existence into trash bags

As if all that was left of them was just the scraps you didn’t yet get to

We ran through the house

Panic attack fuelling survival

Just to grab onto pieces that hadn’t yet been eviscerated by your madness

I can’t even recall the escape route

But I remember every stitch and word to try to piece together what was left

Of your kid

Of my friend…

So when I stood there boiling over

Venom coating teeth

Seething eyes ready to kill

I thought to myself

That I might really cross that line of no return

Because you

You changed something in me

Because

I will never stop

fighting against abusive pricks like you

-

This poem was originally intended for QVV’s Queer Sensory challenge, but I just went on a flashback ride with it and I don’t even know if it works. Trauma always lingers. But it’s also empowering to finally write out something that happened almost 10 years ago.

Check out the challenge below: