I sometimes try my best to hate him.
Whispering a silent prayer to myself,
trusting it could make me stronger.
I sometimes dream of unicorns and purple cotton candy,
images of laughter and joy,
slightly sweetening my life by every frame.
Though, still trying my best to hate him.
Sometimes I lay down flat on the floor so that I won't fall.
Thinking that prevention is the best medicine.
Holding my breath just so I can hear my heart beat faster,
from the way I’m making my body panic.
An effort to reassure myself that I’m still alive.
And proof that trauma hasn’t crumpled me. Yet.
I sometimes wish words would do more.
But all they ever do is lay flat.
Still, there is beauty in every line.
On every floor.