Untitled VIII

I’ve nearly hit the four year
mark from that fateful day
when the entire world upended
and every bit of plan I had
so carefully cultivated was
thrown out the window.

I don’t allow myself to ruminate.
I’m not sure if it’s because
I’ve found true acceptance or
if I’m only protecting myself
by not thinking about it,  

though every single day is a reminder.
I can’t escape the shower or the mirror
or the constant pain, though I don’t
feel twinges of self consciousness
any longer, when my shirt dips too low.

Circumstances can make us, but how
they do depends on what we allow,
how we move through trauma
and what words we permit
to dance in our heads.

I’m not weak like I once was.
It could be wisdom that comes
with age, or the way I’ve taken to
shrugging off opinions of others, or
this immense need to be on the perimeter
rather than in the middle.

Today is a good day, with warming sun
on my face and cats in my lap:
a schedule that includes my best friend
and only love, moving through the days’ chores, truly happy that I exist.