She sat with the counselor
and tried to explain
to divulge in words
what had not been said
for too many years.
Over-size
dime-store dark glasses
hid the terror trail
as she sat, tense
alert, waiting.
Hands clasped in lap
hid fingernails
chewed to nothingness
feet pressed on floor, heels together
knees together too.
A posture learned
to pull in, retreat
be small
in the smallest
amount of space.
She flinched
as he leaned in
and so he adjusted
settled back in the chair
to listen with his eyes.
And finally
she answered
slowly
each word mumbled
yet distinct.
I feel like
a sandwich cookie
pryed open
pulled apart
licked raw
and gnawed upon
crumb by crumb
and now
I am totally consumed.
lillian the home poet 
In delicate unfolding, you’ve nailed the fear that entrenches itself into the abused…
with word movements, you’ve artfully posed the horror encapsulating the victim’s world…
and what perfectly poetic closing imagery – the sandwich cookie – programmed in the consumer mind to be a delightful moment – symbolizing and summarizing the depth of pain…
Beautiful
am:)
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Thank you so very much, Ann Marie. Your words mean a lot.
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🙂
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