What Happens When I Trust You

Poetry and Prose by Britt Wolfe

It begins the same every time—
a small opening,
a softening of the ribs,
a belief — foolish, tender, human —
that this time might be different.

I lower the drawbridge.
I invite you in.
I tell myself not every storm ends in ruin.
And still,
the moment my guard drops,
you strike.

Not with fury.
With familiarity.
That’s the cruelest part—
the precision of it.
You know where the fractures live,
the tender seams of forgiveness
I keep trying to stitch closed.

You don’t destroy me outright.
You dismantle me slowly—
smiling while you twist the knife,
calling it love,
calling it honesty,
calling it mine.

I used to plead for reflection—
for even a flicker of recognition
in the mirror I kept holding up for you.
But your gaze always slid away,
like light refusing the truth of glass.

So I swallowed the hurt.
I folded it into silence,
made myself smaller,
more patient,
less demanding.
I thought if I became easier to love,
you would choose not to harm me.
But hunger does not honour restraint.
You devoured the quiet, too.

And still, I tried.
God, how I tried.
Each time, I came back
with trembling hope cupped in my hands,
and each time,
you smashed it.

You didn’t just break the trust—
you burned it.
You doused the ashes.
You fed me the smoke.
You watched me choke on it
and asked why I wasn’t breathing.

Now, even peace feels suspicious.
Even tenderness feels loaded.
You taught me that safety
is just a pause
before the next betrayal.

And still, some part of me waits—
not for you,
but for the miracle of believing again.
For the impossible day
when trust does not taste like blood.

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Poetry Anthologies by Britt Wolfe