If my trauma response could speak, what would it say?It would say , “it’s not going to get better. It’s only going to get worse.
Born into exile, I walk among the pillars Where our heroes fell. My head is bowed, yet Unbroken am I. I watch, Listen, learn secrets
They would me forfeit My lovely SUV and Drive an old Civic They want to take what I’ve earned because they can’t see My value.
In an undergrad Class many years ago, a Classmate, orthodox Jewish, nineteen, told Us about verbal abuse He’d endured by a Random passerby That morning,
He always wanted Something worth dying for. But He was alive, in Spite of himself. He Wondered if the French Foreign Legion would take him.
Give me that rope, I’m Making a whip; there’s work to Be done. My Dad’s house. Wake the young lion. Tell him to get to
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