I find myself tangled in the lump of my throat.  
Trapped somewhere between my mind of logic and my twisted and aching heart I am dizzy with conflict.  
I am worth something.  
I am worth nothing.  
I am worth more than words can offer.

That familiar lump squeezes and twists my weary emotions as I grasp for a momentary breath of logic.
A thought that reassures what kindness says; an understanding that I am so much more than what he said.  
But in that moment his words, his actions; they come crashing down on me as the lump threatens to engulf me.

Pain and bitter bile wash over me
The choices seem so non-existent.  
Why else would his hatred spiral?  
Why else would a child so young bear such deep and burdened scars?

It must be because I am worth so little.

The secrets that we shared.  
The secrets that I keep.  
These are the fuel to ignite a burning lump of torture.  
I struggle to move on
I struggle to let go while the lump clutches its tiny treasure.  
How do I feel my worth when all I feel is the pain wiping away even the smallest doubt that he might have been wrong?

I want to breathe.  
I want to feel the full capacity of worth expand until that lump of disbelief is pushed aside for good.  

I want to exhale until I know that he was wrong.