Inner Interrogations

Penny Wilson Writes


My interrogator 
was ruthless 
casting doubt 
on answers 
lies 
I had told 
myself 

I denied 
denied what I saw 
right 
in 
front 
of 
me

The rituals 
repeated 
my history 
looking 
me square in the face

Wringing 
the facts from me 
one 
at a time

Finally 
spent 
and weak 
from 
validity

I stood 
tall and erect 
to face tomorrow 

leaving 
the past 
behind 
me

Copyright (C) 2020 Penny Wilson

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