move on

five.

Maybe,
Maybe someday I will be able,
To see a hand raise,
Without flinching,
Attempting to escape the pain,
That has yet to,
And most likely will not,
Come,
Though I still feel my eyes shut tight and my breath hitch,
When I see a raised hand.
Maybe I will be able,
To hear a voice,
Slightly louder,
Without shrinking within myself,
Trying to hide from a sound,
That should not be able to cause physical pain,
But yet my chest feels tight,
Whenever anyone speaks,
Above their normal tone.
Maybe I will be able,
To let my guard down,
And not immediately put it back up,
As soon as I begin a friendship,
Because they have not done anything,
That would or could,
Hurt me,
But still I cut off,
Anyone that I am close with.
Maybe I will be able,
To let myself feel,
Without wondering what will go wrong,
And how I could mess up anything that I have,
With someone,
That could be something more,
And yet I still feel panic set in,
Whenever someone reaches for my hand,
Or guides me,
With their hand on the small,
Of my back.
Maybe someday I will be able,
To overcome everything that you did to me,
But that day,
Is ages away.
Because,
The damage that you did,
The wounds that you left,
Will take time to heal,
And they are so damn deep,
They may take near forever.