My trauma is not a box
It’s like water
That flows too quickly
Tastes wrong, unjustifiably
manipulativley
Sinks into my skin again
It’s composed of this rain
Falling from the wrong sky
An old enemy
That I had long defeated
This rain falls into my tear ducts
And I fear that what rolls down my cheeks is real
That it’s all so transient
And in my weakness I succumb
But every colour in my world is changed
Shifted so subtly
Yet not so subtly at all
I rage and rage and quietly I rage
My soul, my home, has changed
Because we made concrete together
Diamonds and stars
Everything real
And everything magic that could be