When Everyone Looks Like the Enemy
Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
There comes a point
when you’ve fought for so long
you forget what started the war.
You keep your fists up out of habit,
your jaw locked from the years of clenching,
your heart trained to flinch before it can feel.
And soon—
everything starts to look like a threat.
Every kindness sounds rehearsed,
every question feels like a test,
every silence tastes like betrayal.
You start to see ghosts
where there are only people who love you.
The body forgets the difference
between safety and siege.
It keeps the alarms blaring
long after the house has gone quiet.
You sleep beside the ones who care for you
and wake ready to defend yourself.
You start building walls
so high that even the light must ask permission.
This is what happens
when the nervous system never learns to exhale.
When every bruise becomes a prophecy,
and every soft word feels like the prelude to a strike.
I have been there—
striking at shadows,
mistaking mercy for manipulation,
punching until my own hands bled
and wondering why everyone was backing away.
But here is the quiet truth:
not everyone is the enemy.
Some are the ones still standing
after the smoke has cleared,
hands outstretched,
ready to lead you home.
And maybe the truest kind of strength
is not the will to keep fighting,
but the grace to stop—
to lower the blade,
to breathe through the shaking,
to look into the faces of those who stayed
and see them clearly,
at last,
as allies.
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Poetry Anthologies by Britt Wolfe:
