A good student I hope to be, learning well my lessons whilst you are young enough to educate.
I’m about to spit nails. People wield the language of CHOICE like a weapon. I’ll tell you who talks about CHOICE like that… People who damn well have it. That’s who.
How could I have been so blind? The answer is very simple – my eyes had been beaten shut.
To be born, to be recklessly kept, and to be nobody’s – is the root of ruin. My ruin.
With hope and expectation,
Now that I am studying the anatomy of abuse, I run my fingers under the skin of slaughtered souls who are still alive.
Where does that leave us? We, the majority for whom justice will never be adjudicated and for whom victory is a vapor?
To write around the things I cannot speak.
To frame the house of my humanity.
To put the roof back on my soul.
Be suspicious when someone of greater power assigns blame to someone of lesser power.
I was nervous to meet you. Nervous not to be enough. I was afraid to be, to bring my body not just my soul to you. And there you were – althogther lovely and smashing.