I remember who I was before that person died

I remember keeping abuse quiet.
I remember it showing its head anyway, and who turned a blind eye.
I remember when I died.
I remember realizing my family did not care what happened to me, again and again.
I remember when choice was taken away from me, again and again.
I remember when I denied survival sex.
I remember when my body didn’t physically feel like a fire.
I remember when I could look at someone and not see another world of possibility falling apart.
I remember being at places that did not feel like fire.
I remember feeling like there was a point to that.