The Girl Who Blocked Her Own Shot

I want you to know

That every time I face a blank page with a 

half-formed idea that I have to FORCE 

myself to pick the words that bring life 


the words that burn bridges,

Express bitterness

Or allow anger biased by hurt to freely 


I chose a life of words that heal

And I have to keep making that choice 

through every bit of pain I feel.

I can not afford to fall backwards.

When I see the arrows flung at me

As they often are by 

Those who do not use 

them as tools,

Those who do not know how to grow their 

own food, 

Or process their own pain,

Or express their own love,

When those arrows fly by my head

Or when one arrow –

Usually thrown by someone I love the 


Pierces my stomach,

Leaves me wounded,

but still alive to fight again,

That arrow I remove,


And use to dig the earth.

I take that weapon meant for my destruction 

covered in blood and 


and make it a tool.

It was never meant to keep hurting me!

I use it to dig,

To plant a garden of forgiveness,

To grow peace lilies,

To bring life.

That weapon in your hand is

recommissioned to give life in mine –

Not to take it,

To grow food to share with others,

No longer starved of human connection.

Could I deny the wound that still hurts?

I do not,

But the flower’s growing from my stomach 

Are now more sweet.

The food more flavorful I eat 

Than the shot you threw attempting

My defeat.


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