Ten years after the statement TW:SA

{TW - SA- reflections on a police visit after a situation aged fifteen}
 
{{I'm fine, I just process through writing. With love.}}
 
I.
After the realization -  
 
that in that room,  
in that place,  
ceiling made of polystyrene,  
squares in rows, pale sky,  
she never said  
"You do know what will happen to him..."  
She merely explained the steps,  
ramifications of my rights, the law.  
"We'll need to bring him in for questioning,"    
and it sent me skittering,  
clawing up the walls,    
through a crack in the big window,  
to a blue, vast, bright sky.    
I believed I wouldn't be believed.  
I didn't realise  
how young, how eroding,  
how great marks would be left on my life.  
I should have breathed fire,  
banged the drum,  
howled -
instead grew mountains  
up from my spine to protect me.
It never leaves you, does it?
What if he did it again?  
See,  
the Officer never made me leave that room I realise,  
leave that place, shrink and hold it,  
hide in basins of other pursuits,  
she didn't make me go back to him,  
let it reoccur,  
didn't make me reset myself.
It's not just the act that makes you feel hopeless,
it's the reconfiguring of all of your dreams.
 
II.
 
After the dreams shift,
roll off the curves of you,
hardened, ridged,
after putting on a face becomes necessity,
not ideal,
you'll find new 'yous',
things that make her tick,
like how you support others,
and how there are great oceans in you
of art, and passion, and empathy and comedy,
like how you take your booze,
where you want to travel,
who you couldn't bear to lose.
You build up an army
of humans you trust like a wall,
ones that would believe you,
ones who want 'you' as you are.
The old one won't be an enemy,
one you shame wishing she'd been brave,
you'll see her as young, hit with few opportunities
for compassion or knowing her own worth.