Emotional Bile

There is a fire in my belly. 

An ache caused by the acrid decay of the memories I’ve held there for so many years. 

I taste the metallic taste in my mouth before the nausea hits. 

My mouth and throat go dry. Instantly, I have both a mouth full of cotton and too much saliva. 

Quickly, I feel the acid rising from deep within...rising faster...until my body is racked with dry heaving and my throat is on fire. 

I bend at the waist and place my hands on my knees. 

I crumple to the ground, still coughing and unable to expel the evil. 

My hands are tucked in an awkward prayer position between my thighs. 

Salty tears form and join the beads of sweat trailing from my forehead, tracing the creases in my face until they drop one at a time to the floor. 

I weep because I mourn what I have lost. 

I weep because I didn’t have a chance to live a normal life without these gut-wrenching tales of violence. 

I weep because my innocence and self actualization were stolen from me. 

I grieve what I have lost and because of who took it. 

I will lay here, crumpled and weeping until this wave passes. 

Then, I will rise. 

I will stand and I will place one foot in front of the other until I am walking. 

I will walk until my muscles scream at me to run. 

I will run and I will fight for each stride and each breath that propels me forward.