cat scratches

A friend wrote this and asked me to read it. I was amazed. With her permission, I am posting this for others to read.

cat scratches

To them
I am a way in.
I am the connection they can’t make.
I know the secrets, and the lies.
I have to give them something—-- mostly
Hope.
They make me give them something.
Hope that she is okay.

To her
I am a way in.
I am the connection to them that she refuses to see.
I can try to explain them.
I have to give her something--- mostly
Assurance.
Assurance that they love her.

But I have to defend her to them.
And I have to defend them to her.
I am always defending.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
Why is she hurting herself?
Why don’t they understand?
Always, WHY???

They couldn’t handle it.
She wouldn’t handle it.

But all I can see is blood.

My head is swimming in blood.
Her blood.
Claire’s blood.
It moves in slow motion, but instead of her sitting there,
Looking at me,
Her face wet with tears,
She is lying there,
Cold and blue.
With all the blood.
I am standing here, trying to be strong, trying to defend,
But the blood is drowning me.

It looked as though she had flung her fucking arms around.
Intentionally spread her pain all over the floor,
For me to clean up. For me to hide.
And I did.

So I am standing in her blood, their blood, my sisters’ blood,
Trying to tell them it is okay,
She is okay.
She won’t leave like Claire did.

So I am standing in this pool of pain,
Trying to tell her that they understand,
That they are okay.
They know you aren’t Claire.

“Don’t fix me,” she says.
She also said, “They are only cat scratches.”
And they laugh out of fear.

But all I can see is blood.