I’m not the little girl

you talk of pain in metaphors and similes

it’s easier to talk in vagueness

in storytelling as if it’s someone else’s pain

but I own my wounds

I’m blunt and to the point

as if I’m numb to the experience

but I feel everything I relive the moment

so I can know what it meant to me

and I don’t write to relive the past

I write to make peace

and to no longer put myself in a position

to feel as I did that day, that week, that month

I don’t want to repeat and recycle

and the pain you gave me to just transfer

to another man and let him walk on me

like I’m small again because I’ve outgrown that skin

that shell no longer fits me

as I’m not the little girl I used to be

wondering why everyone had a dad but me.