Wounded Child

Whisperings of things unseen, unspoken and unheard. Lacerations consistently applied over time feels normal and we will perpetuate it against ourselves even when the primary perpetrator is done.

Shame, shame, shame, self-condemnation, exiled into the desert.
Will someone come find me?

I wait…
I wait…
I wait…

The child stops when there is no answer to his cries. He gives up and lies down to die.

And aunty says to the corpse, “what a quiet, obedient child, but so scared, so dull”.



Click here for Healing for the Wounded Child


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