Screw being a victim

Taking power back from the abusers

He holds me in his arms.

He whispers in my ear.

“Let it come”

The details now allude me.

Yet I recall a primal scream.

My body.

Shaking.

Holding trauma deep within.

Trauma that has taken away my freedom.

Closed my body down to it’s full right to pleasure.

My mind fighting with the detail.

I encouraged it.

I should have stopped it.

I whimper, in distress.

I cry.

My beloved cries in my ear.

He hear’s my pain.

Perhaps he cries for himself.

My abuse is a mirror for his.

His soul, like mine, attuned for expansion.

For our wounds have aligned our paths.

Yet we are not victims.

We rise.

Together.

This is how women grow.