Bathroom tiles

There's always going to be a piece of myself missing.

She's always gonna be gone.
Always missing.

It's funny, I'm dressed like a ghost
but I'm haunted by a real one.

the ghost of myself,
the ghost of my past,
the ghost of my trauma.

But my abuser is all too real.

She spent her time hiding in the bathroom,
crying and shaking.
Everything is too much,
its overwhelming.

and he's picking the lock,
trying to get in.

Taking the space away.

When I blink I see it all again.
Clattering to the floor,
crying,
screaming,
shaking.

There's a piece of me still lost,
still gone
never coming back.

I hid on the top roof of a parking garage,
because the bathroom was no longer safe.

Closest to the sky,
farthest from the ground.
Ready to leave it all behind.

a part of me wishes I did.

It's torture,
walking down the street
while a piece of me is still crying in the bathroom.

I lost that piece of me,
and she's not coming back.

I can't bring back that ghost.

Regression

Sometimes seeing you doesn't hurt me.

Sometimes I forget you exist.
And sometimes,
I can't get rid of the feeling
that you're breathing down my neck.

You moved on,
so should I.

It's not fair,
you get to move on as if nothing really happened.
As if you didn't hurt me,
ruin me,
taint me.

Why?
Why can you live in such comfort
and I have to stay behind in fear.
Why do I sit in fear,
waiting for the day you might come back.

It's not fair.

It's not fair that the abusers and rapists get to go on,
but we're left standing in wait.
I don't want to be like this.
I don't want to be scared,
or anxious,
or angry.

But I am.

Somedays I walk past you,
two strangers in the night,
my vision unable to recognize your face.

And somedays,
I see you face
and I remember.

and I can't forget
no matter how hard I try.

Halloween normally doesn't scare me
but today
I'm terrified.