Some people are held captive by their own minds.

Some people are ripped apart and tortured by the person they see in the mirror.

I can’t do that.

I can’t look at you, knowing what we know and hate you.

I see the x-rays, and I feel the shifting bones.

I know the damage and the stories carved into this body.

If I let you be my enemy, then I will be truly alone.

You, my mighty protector.

My house still standing after the big bad wolf came to blow you down.

You still stand after the fire, the hurricane, the earthquake and everything else he threw at you.

How can I hate these feet that keep me moving?

These legs that spent years being cradled and sobbed on?

I feel the divots and sharp edges of what’s left of your rib cage.

You were crushed over and over but these organs still working.

I’ll take the occasional pain as reminders.

How can I hate Cleopatra when she still gives such pleasure, beauty and power after being brutally invaded and violated. Saving me from much worst warfare. Being the sacrifice.

How can I hate these arms that protected my face from becoming a billboard of my past.

The dark memories are vandalized on the wall of my skull.

This mind of mine was once my safest, happiest place to live, how can I hate it?

It’s where I hide the treasures.

The things just out of everyone’s reach.

The only place he had no key to.