But I’ve never followed my own will. What I wanted. It was always what you guys wanted. Or what society wanted. Or I almost took my pills like a good little girl, had my cathartic trauma moment, and put the pieces of my world back together so everyone could say how brave and good I was. Almost. But I couldn’t. As I write this letter I can’t decide whether I’m acting from strength or weakness, but I know that I’m acting for the first time of my own will. Yes, I know that’s hard to accept.

Where he’d wanted her to remain very still, she saw he’d spelled out a word with wax. Mine. She.

The way you respond to me. You’re poetry in motion.

He made you believe you’d have lovely things and live kinkily ever after, didn’t he?

The wind didn’t know this was hell.

I couldn’t scream because he was taking such good care of me. He’d gotten me bandages. The.

You see, I’ve never been free. Not one day of my life. I’ve always given in to the wants and needs of those around me. My confidence has always been a social mask and my success as a motivational speaker was because my mask was just so damn convincing. At times, even to me.

His hands skimmed across my flesh, cupping my breasts, stroking my back where the blood was slowly pooling. His touch was like heroin in my veins, and I was a grateful addict.

Great art isn’t made of stitched together rainbows and kittens. It’s born of anger and despair and frustration.

In our modern age, some are concerned about the practice of keeping animals caged. Although this is a valid concern, unfortunately once an animal has lived in captivity for so long, it’s more cruel to release them back into the wild. They no longer have the survival skills. This is more true for those born into captivity, but is also.