He yelled at me
It’s been a week since Hugh yelled at me.
A big, barreled, panicked yell.
Did it scare me?
Hell yes it did.
Powerlessness is not the easiest mountain to traverse.
I either buck up and back, ready to clock, or I curl up,
Knees to chest.
Usually it’s a combination, a mixture of my child self and this adult self,
The bitch of it is though,
Is my skin is thin, my soul is right at the surface, I still hold
My hands to my chest when someone treats me cruelly.
And, not sure if you have noticed,
There’s quite a bit of cruelty in this world.
So, what to do?
As pooh says, think, think, think.
Yes, a snack does help, honey dripping as salve.
I would add feel, feel, feel.
At times I have battled her, my child, get up kid, let’s fight,
Let’s WIN.
Let’s bloody some asshole mother fuckers.
She is tired though,
She sniffles and wants to be held.
I oblige with slight annoyance.