I did the scary thing—
the thing I swore I couldn’t do.
The memories,
locked in my skull,
screamed ****** threats,
seared my skin
each time they dared
to be remembered,
spoken,
or written down.

But now—
now, now—
I did the scary thing.

I laid on paper
the story that hollowed me,
that clawed from the inside out,
scratching and screaming
at the walls of my mind,
pressing a knife to my skull each day,
reminding me of things
I wished were never true.

I did the scary thing—
the thing I could never do before.
I told my story to paper,
to the silent, waiting
record keeper.