Its moments like this that I understand why the little girl sits in her room with a razor blade slicing into her flesh.
Let’s the blood run down her leg, she feels it, she’s alive.
No amount of emotional scaring, abuse could ever feel as good as when the blood reaches that crease behind her knee where her thigh and calf meet.
No words said to her about how she needs to grow-up, needs to choose this, needs to do that, needs to make a decision, needs to grow-up, needs to be more open, needs to be more accepting, needs to grow-up… can hurt her
They can’t prick at her soul when she’s bleeding while she’s blood-letting allowing all that is her being, flow,
Flow down hwe legs past her ankles and pools at her feet.
She is free. From the mental restraints and socially acceptable expectations of other people
You see, as a giver she’s always given her all to all, but to herself she’s given none.
Because they don’t teach that in school.
Setting boundaries ain’t as easy as setting goals and boundaries don’t help you get nowhere they just keep you in the same damn place; in that same space.
Where all you do ain’t for you so you aren’t capable of just honestly and truely “doing you”.
I admire that little girl that sits in her room.. finding a way to cope with her short comings based on the wants, needs and desires of others. She won’t explode in a flaming rage… next time she might just cut too deep…
