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.