Your voice.




That voice forces self worth to ball up in the fetal position and beg to die quickly. But as you speak, we can only crawl slowly.


Constructive criticism? Nah, I beg to differ. That voice knocks the shelf my mind is on, to the shelf my heart is on, then falls to the floor my feet are on.


“It’s all love.” Yah? Where have I heard that before?


Verbal abuser’s use that like the needle her mother used. And that needle is only pushed deeper.


The therapist? You want to be that?


But shots are fired.




Chest tightened




Esteem  is balled up and thrown away, and by the time we leave, the tears have been pushed back down our throats; and the words we wish to abuse you with are stale on our tongues.

And we stand here. Take the blows,


“Forgive them. For they know not what they do.”


But if you do...shame on you, to you, and for you!


We pour our hearts onto paper and speak them with the most powerful form of communication but you cut us off and mute our voices, tear and repaint our artwork!!!!


Even this rant is poetry!



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