Scarred by memory
fingers feel for scabs
instinctively
so as not to forget
the pain
to retrace/recall
the fall
and instead
remember how to walk
instead of collide
Holding patterns
emerge as a way to protect
and inflict spite
because fear screams louder than actions
believing you are the same
as before
I speak and act to shield
from expected slams and stabs
You insist and thrash
against insecurities to show
you are different too
But the stitch along
the line of trust throbs
when I least expect
the scar of memory announces itself
and I’m fumbling to
find the fault line
once again
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