me. fucking. too.

the gymnasts
  that blog post
    Anita Hill
      Aminatou
        silence
          judgement
            Franken
               Aziz
                  Farrow
                     me

when can I take a break? how?

when will it be safe to watch CNN
  or scroll Instagram
    or have a conversation at work
      without my pulse racing, stomach churning.

my brave heart heaves pain and also joy
    for the fact that this collective eggshell of shame
        is finally cracking.
          stories pour out
            like runny eggs.

i can guzzle the yolk raw...

but the little girl in me is tired.
  she wants earplugs and blinders and earmuffs
    to get through my day.

there's no longer space to compartmentalize her trauma. 
  everywhere is a reminder.
    flashlights scan the musty corners of my mind.

in the distance a lighthouse,
  my soul.
    beam strong, 
      ready.