I try to follow a road map
of veins back home to who I used to be
but she's lost and scared
and victimized by a man who taught her
at twelve years old
that she is an object for his needs
and now I'm lost
stranded somewhere in the space between
pronouns and not quite manly enough
stuck in the quick sand of
men don't get raped or cry
or admit when their brain becomes the enemy
It takes twenty one days to break a bad habit
and this habitual dead naming
is about to send me six feet under
The girl I used to be is not dead
and I could never hate her
but I don't believe I'll ever be able to find her again
to protect her
to remind her that this world is scary
and it will set her on fire
but there is nothing to fear
because while the weak turn to ash
you will be forged into something stronger

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