She begged the violent words not to surface, not to harass her mind.
She couldn’t differentiate herself from all the voices in her head.
Why some of them were so utterly cruel and why they were such liars.
They would always try to overrun the others, the ones speaking in odes,
Enamoured, enraptured by love and the will to live and grow old. Everything
Voiced its character within her and she was scared, her conscience turning bitter.
She grew up absorbing the idea that she did not deserve attention, or validation,
Support or love. The sabotaged girl grew into the body of a woman who lacked
Self-worth. Seeking what she couldn’t describe in desperate dead ends and cried her eyes
Out as all the stories kept repeating themselves, her childhood, never-ending, desiring
What they said would never belong to her, would never find its way to her, would never
Stay and grow. She refused to remain stuck in stillborn patterns that she never endorsed.
Her body was one of love and resilience, it would always refill itself after life’s crimes emptied it.
“Etude d’une femme assise, vue de dos (Marie-Gabrielle Capet)” by Adélaïde Labille-Guiard (1749-1803)
Croque-Melpomene 