Shifting the Broody Moodys Written By: Sharon Purce How do I abuse me? Let me count the ways. I hammer me with my senses Leading my sixth sense into a maze. I implore My God to relieve me Of the worries and the craze. Yet, I contradict the pleadings Teaming yesteryears up with todays. I think that I’m remembering, But, really, I’m re-living. I’m reinforcing the pain That I swore someone else was giving. My bruised self-worth scabbed its own self With others’ misguided esteem. I stored up their views like saving-grace wealth Tucked them safely in my “This’ll work” dream. Their perfected modes of discipline Cemented as an in-grained-in-me-norm Tried and true gospel-like doctrines Had me chillin’ in a coffin-like form. The incognito of abuse’s disguises Make it crazy-hard to trace.
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