Scribbles from my sketchpad, during the drawing session:

And I'm scarred, and it's broken; been too long, but still
there
The scar tissue peeling away; there he stands
I draw and see the other penis, the only one I ever
Saw, different from this, and wrong; so wrong.
October 21st, 2005, 4:50 pm


And it's not alright; it's not all right
I'm still scarring, still peeling dried blood and flesh
Holes metaphorical; he's filled me with something else;
His penis never entered
But the nightmares are there.
October 21st, 2005, 5:00 pm

My arms lay, waiting

Tear away the curtains,
Let the tears run wild.


Written in retrospect, October 30th 2005

Raesa, you fool, you wisewoman; didn't you know? Yes, you
did; fear and anger and hate, (you) let it feed your soul
and feed of it so that you could stand and speak and live
after the scarring, and perhaps it killed you more than the
scar itself, this feeding.  Perhaps you have done yourself
more harm than he ever could.  The things that you killed in
yourself in order to survive after the half-death; could you
see your soul, could you bear to look at it, mangled,
mutilated; what have you done to your soul, Raesa; what have
you done to your soul.  The harm is more than his appendage
ever brought.