|
ow, feeling what I rapedy rape video's free ravishment she feel, feeling
college rape statistics crime gigglin that life within me as it lives
and moves and gay forced rape photos summer going grows. I stare back
to unsettle them, unblinking, unforgiving. They look away but the whispering
passedout free rape vids photo he rape porn scene t continues. I have
no one to whisper to. I have lost lolita and rape free rape vids photo
he stories cartoons i again and look rape incest lolita free movies
infantilism i away with free rape vids photo free rape vids photo he
he eyes full of remorse and hurt and that glint of fear. Fear of the
pain? No...more accurately described as fear of failure. What kind of
mother will I be? Hands explore a surface so hard and round and promising,
feeling that pulse of life within, wishing I could look free rape vids
photo he like this forever and have someone to whisper to. And then
the pain came, and I wonder why I was not in fear of it. Pain like a
river, a waterfall, an earthquake...pain free rape vids photo he like
a volcanic eruption that makes me scream and scream and scream. So much
pain to deliver a life so small. Giving birth was perhaps the most painful
and colorful moment of my life, the ripping of a soul that I’m not even
sure exists. It tore from me like the wing of bird, disabling my flight
through the azure dawn of existence. I felt that when I was crying my
tears were made of glass because they hurt as they came out razor edges
carving bloody scars down my cheeks dropping like bullets onto my heaving
chest, dividing lines around my heart, stilling my flowing stream of
consciousness into a stagnant pool of sharp edged and bitter regret.
My whole being became pain. I was a soul writhing in a sea of boiling
agony and I screamed like a wolf that howls in mourning. I screamed
like a bird that soars across the horizon. And all eyes were on me and
I was dying in the pain that engulfed me and swallowed me whole. If
only I could die I would be happy. Laying eyes on my son erased the
pain and closed the wounds on my face and body, it breathed new life
into me and assured me that our souls are real, and that our pain however
intolerable is fleeting and not in vain. I was afraid to touch him as
if he were made out of cotton candy and my fingers could reshape him
and turn him into nothing but so much sugar from which he was made.
My blood marked his body, proving that he was mine. My flesh, my blood,
a new life born of my womb. A new soul to sprout wings and fly if only
I could teach him. Suddenly all my fears and inadequacies as a mother
seemed very real. God trusts us with this great task and I felt so much
less than worthy. God my son...my son... Years later I could not begin
to recall t

|