Just one more time I am asking you…What were you thinking?  What is wrong with you?  What did I do?


For years I wore your branding upon my body.  My back.  My arm.  My leg.  My face.  Always, I had to say I had an accident.  I thought it was something I did.  I wasn’t good enough.  Thing is…you chose me. I was an easy target for you.  I wouldn’t ever say anything.  Would hide like the hermit I was.  You hear me?  I said “was”.  


That’s right.  You can no longer hurt me.  Yes, you’ve crippled my heart and buried my soul…but your physicality, now, to me is nothing.  I have woken up.  And I will soar like a phoenix from the grave of flames.  My spirit is awakened.


You will never touch me like you did before.  Scrap that.  You’ll never touch me period.  Your scornful ways led you to put a bullet to my head…I survived.  This brain is not dead.  I look at your pitiful existence and wonder how I ever could’ve allowed this.  Your dominance was a farce.  I have overcome your pathetically arrogant world.  You have been emasculated by my defiance.


Yet still I find myself wondering.  So I am asking you this…Just. One. More. Time.  What gave you the right?



©Shelley Smidt-Booys 2016.  

“Just. One. More. Time.” is this week’s tandem post. You can read the interpretations of my colleagues in tandem here (Celeste and Chevone).


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