I love hugs.
I love a good cwtch.
I’ll cuddle up to you when we watch the telly.
Then all of a sudden it gets too much
like someone poking me with a hot iron rod.
Feels so good it’s like
someone forcing cake down your throat
instead of just eating a piece.
The ripples grow so big they impale me
and bounce off the walls.
I try to contain it
and think that this is different.
This isn’t the person who hurt me
it’s not happening anymore.
It doesn’t matter
the slightest touch tears me apart.
My hand comes out from the rapid
‘can we stop?’
I’m out and back on the shore
but the moment you touch me
I’m right there again.
I’m drowning, it’s an emergency
my every sensor going off.
I crawl away
the rapid is just drops now on my cheeks.
‘It’s OK, it’s OK.’
You say that I won’t drown.
You don’t know that
I’m like a forest after a fire.
The land is treeless, barren and bare.
On the surface it looks like the flames are gone
it’s still burning.