Walk over me
By Mia M
Even in my own home I feel like a stranger.
Entering the room to an ear-piercing silence.
Every step I take I hear a creak, every imperfection paints a scar.
I never knew wood could reflect like a mirror,
The reflection not myself but a broken, beaten, lost little girl.
It’s so cold when in here with you,
My fingers go numb and so does my mind...
I can’t think.
And then it all floods back,
Things turn cuts to cracks,
Bruises to knots,
Sobs to creaks...
And memories to dust.
It’s like a waterfall of colour,
Like autumn in a hurricane.
