I awaken, covered in sweat. I close my eyes and the screaming returns. Some scars are buried deep. Some hidden so far down that it requires unconsciousness to bring them to the surface. I open my eyes again and the fear is gone But the memories remain, floating at the top. The scars burn as mental blood flows. And
Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. A phrase my mother had me repeat every night before I went to bed. The warm embrace of sleep, tucking me away from the nightmare. For awake was when I suffered. I was taught growing up that girls are bullied, but boys are tough. That men settle