When I was 2 years old, my dad's mother would shout at me to "Stop
it Stop it " as I lay on my back rolling my head from side to side
over and over again. She shouted and I stopped it, but as soon as
she left the room, I'd start doing it all over again. Years later,
I learned that particular behavior was a form of self comfort. Left
on my own from early childhood I had no choice but to live in
constant fear and fight it, face unbearable loss and bear it, I had
become the unwilling target of vicious child abuse and endured it
as best I was able until I could escape it and painstakingly find
and return to my biological family. That is what my poems are
about, survival, strength, triumph, joy, grief, and redemption.
Many years later, I still find myself lying on my back, turning my
head from side to side, waiting for my grandmother to shout at me
to stop it. She might have added," You should have outgrown that by
now "
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