A Predator's Victim

As I am sitting here, your hand in mine, thumb grazing over glass skin, careful so as to not break you, I  wonder if your atoms sometimes mistake mine for his, and me with him. My mind gets stuck on repeat, stuttering the reality that maybe my rough, calloused hands remind you of the dry, torn flesh stretched taunt over ghostly knuckles that beat you until you gave in. I wonder if you think that I am him. No, let me take that back. I know that sometims you do. I notice how on your bad days I can kiss you and you'll glance at me in fear, tell me I have his eyes. And I wish you saw my blue-green eyes as the beauty and wonder of a sea you want to explore instead of the dangerous, turbulent shark tank eyes that he drowned you in. I wish you knew I am different. I wish, but I understand. I understand that once someone you love hurts you so bad your brain shuts it out, you'll never be capable of forgetting the afternoon you can't remember. I understand that it isn't your fault a parasite leeched itslef onto you and began draining you of your happiness until you saw yourself only as a body and not a human. I understand that the wall you built up between yourself and everyone else is so high you never see outside. And I understand that it is my job to hep you dismantle it, brick by wretched brick, fear by colossal fear, until you see the world as a playground instead of a battlefield. But until you see me for me and not him, I will lotion my hands to keep the callouses away. I'll veil my sea-colored eyes with brown contact lenses. I will turn my volume up at night so when you wake up screaming, you can call me. I refuse to let you transform the brick wall into a home. I refuse to let you continue to be his victim. You are more. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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