I'm doing everything right. Reaching out, naming myself the shattered teacup
as you serve biscuits to your friends. I thought if I stepped back through time
maybe someone could fix me like they should have but who will step in twenty-three years later? I thought one of you might detect more than evidence, might sew me back up without a bleeding wound to scream in your face. I fantasize showing up at your doorstep, too traumatized to speak, clearly wandering cold with no jacket or purse. Would you take me in? Would someone take me in? Don't make me resort to my old ways.
Like Ariel I suddenly can stumble out of the shore, naked for all to see. Too busy looking beautiful to speak. Oh wait, that's the poster girl for rape, not I. But still we're all voiceless.