Haiku Friday

What is it about
a fight that unhinges me,
my fear adrift, loose?

I struggle to stay
present, and not retreat to
my old battered self,

the girl who'd hide in
a dark closet, shredding her
forearms, sharp with rage.

I stand tall, but my
insides crouch, defensively:
defiant, afraid.

Why do we attack
the soft targets, ribcage and
skull cap, hearts and guts?

Not castle or tank,
bunker or trench, I raise my
hands, but won't give in.

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Mad thanks to Jennifer and Christina for sponsoring Haiku Friday.