Wanting to Know

Do you really want to know?

About all the bad things,

that I've survived,

How it broke me, bruised me,

Changed me.

Do you really want to know?

Do you want your perception

of what and who I am changed,

irreversibly altered,

to feel as though you must

dance on eggshells

Forever.

Do you really want to know?

Or would you rather...

not,

carry on and pretend

that I'm fine, that

your thoughtless jokes don't

make me want to visibly

recoil, flinch, scream.

Would you rather not know?

Not have to deal with

that burden,

face that reality,

handle that responsibility?

I'd understand completely,

I don't either.

I live this life, this past

every. single. day.

You don't have to.

So do you really want to know?

On the Cusp