all of this endless, circling noise and weighty doubt
push and try and see what comes of even the smallest effort
be more than even you imagine, even more than you believe possible
it was given to you to use
it was given to you
I relax my hand and open my fingers and the little bits of you that I’d held on to so tight wisped away like smoke.
The problem with school is that it’s forced.
I’m thirsty for knowledge when I have the freedom to seek it myself.
The slap brought with it all the force of the wind between father’s palm and her face- all the power of his hate, and his explicit desire to make sure the lesson sunk in.
She reeled backward, falling to the wooden floor with a thud.
Caught up in the momentum of the hit she rolled onto her back before she came to a halt. Every nerve on the left side of her face screamed in violent protest and her ears rung with the cannoning effect of the thunder clap of flesh on flesh.
"Don’t Trust, never trust." He was on top of her before her eyes could regain focus. His accusing finger at her nose daring her defiant tears to break their ranks.
She’d get it for sure if any water sprung loose from her eyes. But at five years old, her heart didn’t always heed the warning of the head. She knew what happened if she cried, if she whined, if she slipped for even a moment and wondered why she wasn’t allowed to just feel what she felt.
She tasted the blood that pooled from the broken skin of her inner cheek and she swallowed it quickly. She felt only a mild discomfort for the taste. Father always told them to get used to the taste and smell and color of blood- even their own. ‘In the time of revolution, rivers of blood will be all around you. Never forget your objectives. Blood is your reward.’