reverse

As a young girl, there was no nurturance.
The only nurturance permitted was that of the bottle;
As if it somehow held memories so sacred and fondly remembered.
As if it somehow contained liquid gold so precious, pure, and rare.
As if it somehow had faith in God.
As if it somehow transcended time and people into everything worth honoring and respecting.
As if truth was ever so potent.
The truth is the truth was potently not present
It was its own religion-feening only on dictation
The transcendence of time and people was never revered.
Memories violently blocked
Purity easily contaminated
Innocence not permitted
Feelings...
most of all feelings
non-existence
No feeling no feeling
no concern
no cares
no protection
truth barricaded
voice vaulted
trapped forever in a sea of violation
Rage, ahh yes, the rage....the only comfort I knew for so many years.
An enigma that comforted and swallowed my tears
night after night.
Choking all roots of rationale.
Aborting the birth of endearment.
Generating fantasy after fantasy of escape.
Escape from the one who stifles.
The one who smothers.
The one who manipulates me to do what they want when they tell me to.
The one who dictates the outcome of my every waking moment or else punishment will be impossible to evade.

readyforhelp

Thank you.