by Rachel Davis
Covered with a mantle of shame and with the tatters of shabbiness flying behind me, I raced for the quiet solitude of myself. Oblivious to the thorns and brambles clawing and scratching at me, my wounds intensified in depth and infection.
I ran headlong through the branches slapping me, accepting it as punishment for just being me. At long last I arrived at the quiet spot where I could finally be. The lush grass cushioned my weary body as I curled into my sobs of dark desolation. The lingering drops of dew caressed my parched and dry body.
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