For years I think I walked around thinking that I had done something to lose that "right". Some fault of mine, committed years ago. Somewhere I had said something as a boy to give someone the idea that it was okay to mess with me.

Lately I've been searching for it. "What the hell was it?", a voice has been asking. The more I take that voice as my own, the more I feel like a human being, a grown man.

Yet, like the soldier in game of thrones, I find myself with mouth gaping and no words. I wonder if that is when I am trying to answer the question or simply trying to breathe.

It's so hard to feel empowered when the memories keep flooding my space. Thanks for the reminder that it is not me who made life so hard.

Lose the drama; life is a poem.