Wounded Animal

i see the eggs splattered on the ground you all try and walk around 

i see the way you hold your breath, more attempting to be cautious than considerate 

i see the way your too-soft eyes look at me like a baby doe shot by a hunters arrow and left to die in the woods without its mother 

i am not a wounded animal. 

i am not a dog that has been kicked that flinches away when you swing your legs off the couch

i am a human being and i am grown and i am old enough to understand what’s happening and process it and when you stare at me like a child who lost her mommy in the grocery story, tugging at your shirt with teary eyes, clutching her favorite dolly to her chest, i feel eleven and helpless all over again.