Reflecting on the Past

It’s funny how the reflection

Of my screen catches more of my

Attention than the content itself.

 

Our American flag on the front porch is swaying.

It’s only been there for a few

Years, but it feels like ages.

 

I remember the bad nights

Last May, sitting in this same chair

And watching that same flag.

 

I remember the bad nights

When the yelling got too loud

And the flag waved continuously.

 

I wanted to die again last November.

I thought my life was over because of

The isolation and hate in my community.

 

I will always be hated.

That’s okay.

Humans like to hate.

 

It’s not my fault.

It’s not anything I say

Or do.

 

I remember being a kid on

The fourth of July.

We would wave flags all around.

 

We would scream at each other

And argue and we would cry when we

Fell over.

 

For a minute it was as if

All worries slipped away

And home was just an idea.

 

The fireworks made me cry.

We bought pink noise canceling

Headphones that hurt my head.

 

But they worked.

The noise outside stopped

And I was stuck within.

 

It’s like I’ve kept those on my

Whole life. Pushing everything away

To protect my insides.

 

But it’s also not.

I still cover my ears with my hands and put 

The blanket over my head during big noises.

 

And I still flinch when a

Hand comes flying and I

Can still remember my sob’s echoes.

 

My head hurts.

My head still hurts.

I can’t remember when my head didn’t hurt.

 

Those headphones didn’t block out

My father’s angry screams.

I was there.

 

The blanket didn’t stop

His hands from swinging.

I was there.

 

That flag was swinging too.

He was there.

He was always there.

 

I think I try to blame everything

For what happened to little me

Because it’s not my fault but it can’t be his either.

 

He was there to protect me, right?

He was protecting me,

Right?

 

Or maybe it was my fault,

I knew how to dial 911 and besides,

Wasn’t it me who made him angry?

 

And maybe if I had done what he said,

If I went to bed earlier, if I wasn’t

About to get my first period.

 

Obviously, the hormones don’t mean

Anything. Being dragged by the ankle

Is just normal. It happens.

 

And maybe it was my blonde hair as a kid,

Because I didn’t look like him. Or it could

Have been the temper of his I got.

 

I don’t know.

I don’t know if I want to know.

I don’t want the truth to be harder than what I have.

 

Sometimes the flag stops waving

And I think it knows something

Has changed.

 

You know, 

Like how when seasons change

You can feel it in the air.

 

That flag is lonelier than me.

It's a magnet for dissociation.

It stores more memory than me.

 

That flag is something I don't want to

See; I'm afraid of what it

Tells me