Inhale…heal thy self.

The wounds were many, but nothing she couldn’t bare.

She knew others that had it worse.

Much worse.

She used to read old news paper articles on abuse cases.

One story she remembers particularly well.

A young boy 3 or 4 was put in a closet night after night. Arms tied in a shirt and hung in the closet by a hanger.

All day.

All night.

When the parents needed to get a little more aggression out they would pull out his teeth and finger nails.

The whipping child soon met a horrible, painful end. As you can only run from  imagining.

And although she cried, a part of her felt relieved.

Relieved to know others had it worse than her. It made her feel as if she could somehow continue on.

As if someone else’s torture lubricated her cracked existence.

She acted out due to her abuses. Same as any other marked child. Acting out to figure out. . .

Older now.

Her attention span fails her as she gets older.

She tends to ‘forget’ to let herself ravage the old memories.

So tonight she smokes more herb… and forgets to forget to let herself get anything out.

Inhale. . . Shhhhh…Let it out.

Exhale. . . Shhhhhh…get it out.

Heal thy self.