Thanks, Alex.

the whole poem was triggered by a dentist appointment yesterday. bad time. and when i started to write, it all came rushing out. but at least i'm seeing the connections and understanding what is going on and why and how to handle it better...

i was wondering if i should even post it because it seemed so graphic to me - but maybe that was because it was my own memories with the images and sensory stuff. and then i thought what if people think i'm making a joke out of it. but i wanted to show what it is like to have that happen.

"the scariest thing about abuse of any shape or form, is, in my opinion, not the abuse itself, but that if it continues it can begin to feel commonplace and eventually acceptable."
- Alan Cumming, "Not My Father's Son"