cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Some hunt to kill; some to survive and protect. Shards of piercing words flew across the room at her. There was no point in running. She had been captured, and the gunfire from his vocal cords was incessant. Standing, she took the blows, her body numbing with the painful sensation of a thousand paper cuts…
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What happens to the heart when the walls come closing in? When the thunder makes one hide amidst the shadows? Just breathe. Give yourself permission to just…simply…breathe.
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*This post is from a sexual abuse survivor, it may be triggering for some readers. Before my first-ever game of hopscotch, I was sacrificed at the altar of your desires. Baptized in pain then drowned in the depths of your hands. You thought you had crushed me, you believed with an evil glee that you…
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There are words deep within me that have refused to surface. They hide, playing, in a place far inside my being, and I like keeping them there. I don’t want to hear these words, in fact, I have spent a lifetime contributing to the silencing and burial of them so they would not reach my…
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