Others have hurt her. They seem to have gone. But she says she can’t stop it and everything’s wrong.
It doesn’t make sense. She says, Stop Being Weird.
But the pain she controls is what squashes her fears.
Because it works; and nothing else does.
Because the people she loves hurt her; and now the pain feels like love.
Because she needs to know how much she can take.
Because she fights pain with pain. Like a dream, but awake.
She can’t say the words, but the marks speak it all. “I tripped on the stairs and my head hit the wall.”
They say she’ll get better. But she feels bereft. If they take this away, there’ll be none of her left.
But sometimes, at night, when it’s cold and it’s dark – she dreams of a man who can speak to her heart.
“Don’t touch it,” she says. “It’s hot – you’ll get burned.” But He walks through the furnace and towards her He turns.
“It’ll cut you” she says. “It’s sharp and it’s deep.” He takes it and breaks it.
She falls at His feet.
“I’m too much” she says. “I’ll never be free”
“My child, I have bought you. Now come, follow me.”