Thirst

This was inspired and informed by a fantastically useful one-day workshop about trauma and sexual trauma. It was delivered extremely well by Zoe Lodrick: http://www.zoelodrick.co.uk/

greenpint

I lifted the cup of the milk
of human kindness to my lips
and drank it dry;
yes, drank it dry.
When no more of this milk was
offered, I took other cups and
drank them too. Their taste
was less satisfying, but my thirst
was ever-present. O such thirst!
The dregs from these cups I
also drained, and so I searched
for more in other places.
Before long, a stagnant puddle
would suffice, for what it’s worth.
Lapping with my wretched,
blistered tongue, I would forget
to feel shame, thinking only of
the thirst. Such terrible thirst!
I would have followed you to the
end of the earth for a cup of that
filthy, diseased water – killed you
for the right to drink it – and my
conscience, muted by the roar
of my longing, would have no say.

 

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