there are those who read “survivor” and instead only see only hear “victim” who deem me “damaged” incapable of a “normal” life there are days

Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
there are those who read “survivor” and instead only see only hear “victim” who deem me “damaged” incapable of a “normal” life there are days
the Greek chorus has declared me damaged beyond repair incapable of a “normal” life “better off dead” say the well-meaning citizens than “broken” preferring the
In 2017, I was deeply honored when 1Wise-Woman invited me to record a spoken word version of her poem Where Did You Go? It is
I travel a spiral path bare feet sinking deep into soft warm sand circles twisting ever tighter as I navigate this nautilus walls curved and
I am reminded that there are those who read the label “survivor” and instead only see only hear “victim” who will deem me “damaged” incapable
the memory is an old one I am 16 maybe 17 deeply asleep in my bedroom my sanctuary someone is touching me caressing my body
thunder has been rumbling for the last few weeks under my skin hair stands up on the back of my neck my arms a storm
It sits on the edge of my peripheral vision I try not to look at it pretend it’s not there She gives it a name
there is an art to talking everything about what is nothing while saying nothing about what is everything to paint convincing illusions of intimacy candor