Normally I'd just link, but this one is part of an access-only post. I did another "poetry by characters" yesterday. The MC was in a conflict that included child soldiers and was stabbed by one; this poem is a reflection of some of the psychological trauma that resulted.
Over The vice-grip of her fingers on my sweat-slick shoulder betrays her fear even as she says "It's okay. It's over."
The words become a mantra. She's trying too hard to convince the nightmare to end when sleep does.
And I can't tell which I'm trying harder to hide: the crack or the snarl in my voice as I reply,
What does over look like, exactly?
There are things you hide from people you love. You hug their eyes closed hold them close in your blindfold.
I'm sorry. I'm fine, really.
Because I know my embrace is an eager tattle-tale for shaky hands and gooseflesh; I'm not ready to tell her
That every day for three weeks I re-opened the gash in my side wishing it would scar. It didn't seem right that he only left a mark in places I couldn't see.
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timeasmymeasure
Character poetry - TW for self-injury
Date: 2013-01-28 12:19 am (UTC)Over
The vice-grip of her fingers
on my sweat-slick shoulder
betrays her fear even as she says
"It's okay. It's over."
The words become a mantra.
She's trying too hard
to convince the nightmare
to end when sleep does.
And I can't tell which
I'm trying harder to hide:
the crack or the snarl
in my voice as I reply,
What does over look like, exactly?
There are things you hide
from people you love.
You hug their eyes closed
hold them close in your blindfold.
I'm sorry. I'm fine, really.
Because I know my embrace
is an eager tattle-tale
for shaky hands and gooseflesh;
I'm not ready to tell her
That every day
for three weeks
I re-opened the gash in my side
wishing it would scar.
It didn't seem right
that he only left a mark
in places I couldn't see.