You sit on my soul, collapsing my airwaves, I gasp.
You're suppose to be my caretaker, my unconditional stream of flowing love.
He's watching, he sees you hurting me, fighting me, restraining me.
What else is there to do?
You hate me and I hate you.
Manufacturers, that's all anyone ever really cares about.
Not daughters and mothers.
Sister and brother.
How can they view me as sane?
When you're causing me all this god damn, pain.
I want to hurt you, more than ever before.
Have you seen the sore on my brain?
It's grown and prospered.
I look in the mirror and I find it now visible on my outside core.
It's all a name game with you, until it gets physical, and the abuse starts with something different than just the mouth.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
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