There’s an overwhelming helplessness in watching history repeat itself
3 generations now and it’s still a broken record here.
I can only hope this time we won’t sleep with scissors under our pillows Casting glances over our shoulders, Cringing at every raised voice, or sudden movement
We live like rabbits running in the dark
Constantly in search, frantic for cover Every cracking twig a threat.
Even when we leave the warren, move on to greener pastures and “safer spaces”, that feeling never goes away.
Quick glances from the corner of your eye, startled breath, a clenched fist, and those god damned scissors under your pillow.
These things never really leave us. We never breathe the same. We will always ache for some sense of normalcy.