Sunday, November 7, 2010
I stand in a darkened room, unclothed, feeling exposed, robe at my feet. All I hear is the humming of the heater and the stream of a hot shower behind me. The warmth of the air mixes with the moisture and softly falls down from the sky. I am angry at you, you had no right to let people do the things that they have done to you, keeping you captive. You had no business accepting less then the best and expecting to be treated as you have treated others. Your scars remind me of each painful cut, deeper than skin, wider than can ever be measured, still bleeding, refusing to clot. You coddle your heart, hiding it from the light it needs to survive, withholding the energy that might keep it beating strongly, now it weeps and labors to survive.
You question your right to still breathe.
Slowly the mirror fogs until the shape that fueled my anger is hidden.
All that is left is me, lost in the steam again, happy to be hidden once more.