Walking Skeletons

I know I’m healing.
I can feel the delicate spider’s web of hope coating my skin.
These days the anger comes a little quicker.
These days it’s easier to settle into the stomach of a poem
than to find the home I made in your excuses.

Sweetheart, look:
Trauma is trauma is trauma is trauma.

But believe me,
there isn’t time to build closets for your skeletons.
We have to learn to leave them inside of us,
let them hold our bodies up.

Most everyone was a victim at some point, dear,
and I don’t know how to put this delicately,
but:

Being a victim is not a state of sovereignty.
There’s no crown to carry with you.
Being a victim once does not mean you should be one
forever.

Darling,
you have a spine.
Stand up. Use it.
Stop playing as if you aren’t God.