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  • I did not see you razor your rage at us today
    I did not see the bedtime bruises
    I did not see our child timid in his terror as you cracked the calm of our morning coffee with your fist
    I did not see the angles and edges of your fury In every comer of every room
    Battered blind by your fear
    I did not see

    As I've started to see my past through the lens of story I realize I still am not comfortable using prose to share about it. For some reason it's easier to tell stories as poetic images. It's progress. I also find with each story told, the memory is released and healing is washing over me.

    photo courtesy of artotem Blind" © 2009 artotem, used under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike license:
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