The Way The Cookie Crumbles

A poem by Emma Cook

Lady on the bus accusing me of being rude,
how you would cringe if you only knew,
How you would squirm and squeal,
If you heard what I will reveal.

That tap on my shoulder, to you, meant nothing,
an action for attention, a subtle attempt,
harsher than "excuse me" but taking as much courage.

However,

To me, that tap brought it all back.
the Teasing, the Names, the Hate.
Terror fills me again.
Not wanting to turn round but knowing what the consequence would be.
The escalated violence, impatient shouting and
Me, burrowing into myself.
My exterior like a shell, my face a mask
Impenetrable fortress.

Or so it seems.

Little did you know the thoughts inside which never surfaced,
The haunting Nightmares.
Even though you had nothing worth hearing
I heard every word
every syllable
every sound.