she told me setting boundaries is being kind to myself
and I've never really been good at that
being kind that is
I will cower and fade to the detriment of myself  before I will admit that this is decidedly unhealthy

but I'm trying to do better
be better I mean
as a person I call myself cruel to be kind
as I know my mind better than anyone else's
and I know that it is condescending at best

but she tells me to be gentle
treat myself with patience and grace
but I have never liked my name

I don't know if fear exists in the absence of courage or it is accompanies it with a hand on its back
leading it into the forest among all the beasts that lurk there

I don't know if forgiveness should be this contractual obligation that it is in my mind
a softness I rarely allow myself to feel
and while you cannot **** me in a way that matters
I will still feel the blade forcing itself further
the sharpness a stinging not unlike lightening
a gripping of my heart in a too tight hand

she tells me to breathe
a laboring shaky breath that allows air into my lungs once again
the hollow void of the knife leaving behind a scar I cannot be rid of
a reminder of weakness in the face of a wicked beast

she tells me to be kind
to forgive myself for something I shouldn't have to forgive
and well,
I'm not very good at that part