Volatile

I lie in bed and wonder
who I am.
“Volatile” rings through my ears,
abrasive, rash, unacceptably familiar,
it describes me
perfectly.
Did he know, when he said this, that
I described my mother in the same way?

Flashbacks of fights
I didn’t start, wars
I couldn’t win, breathes
I couldn’t take.

Did he know that I described
myself
this way?
I am a free spirit who will fight until the end.
I will defend
the defenseless.
I will stand up
for myself.

After all,
no one else did,
No matter how much
I begged.

“Volatile” maybe,
can be,
possibly,
a compliment?
I feel myself overwhelmed by fear.
Familiarity of her,
her scent,
her voice,
her violence.

Despite my best efforts, Perhaps
The apple
Doesn’t fall far from the tree,
After all.

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