To bleed is to be human.
To fear is to know you are alive.
My heart sinks each time you penetrate my flesh.
The blood leaves my body as tears shed at a grave.
The ground has been hollowed out for me as I watch you devour what is left of my spiritless body.
Once upon a time holding you close and confiding in you was an understood trust.
A trust that was horribly shattered so long ago, but I forced myself to rise and trust your shadow.
I was coerced into understanding your version of normal in that I suffered inconceivable amounts of loss while I built barriers around those who genuinely loved me.
I blame myself for not running away into the forest trees to hide under Mother Earths wings in hopes you would never see me again.
Perhaps if I had done so I could have become so much more of who I wanted to be.
A ballerina who could have performed in New York City to inspire young girls and boys that to dance is to be free.
A film writer and director who could have taken what she learned from behind the stage and help those improv a masterpiece. A true writer of the film allows for improv as it opens the gates for others to truly shine as they are.
That confidence to become was stolen in order to preserve your identity.
Your flesh became increasingly more important than mine.
And now as my wounds attempt to heal I will always feel insecure because of your flesh.