Poem: Gaslight Yourself

I say it didn’t hurt—
the bruise agrees by fading,
the memory learns to limp.

I rehearse the facts
until they sound like rumors.
Was it really that loud?
That cruel?
That real?

I tell myself:
You’re dramatic.
You always have been.
The mirror nods—
it’s been trained well.

I rewrite yesterday
with softer verbs,
sand down the sharp nouns,
call the scream a misunderstanding,
call the silence peace.

When doubt knocks,
I don’t answer.
I text it later saying,
“Sorry, I imagined you.”

I become a courtroom
where I am both judge and defendant,
and the verdict is always the same:
case dismissed for lack of kindness
toward myself.

Still, sometimes the truth leaks—
a hairline crack in the story—
and for a moment
I believe myself.

Quickly, I apologize for that too.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie