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
