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by Jazia Tara 2 years ago in trauma
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‘We’re all mad here’

What she said




“WHO? I do not know no Jazia!”

“Well I know you!”

“Who and a what and how?”

“Look. Listen. Feel.”

Where am I?

“Where am I?”

“You are here!”

“Where is here”

“You are here.”

“As I stand in front of you I ask questions. I want to understand you. I want to know what you are. I want to know why your here. I want to know when you got here. I want to know what you’re doing here. I want to know why you look like that. How can I be here and there, yet no where, yet everywhere?”

“I ask you.”


“Who are you?”

“You are me.”

“Who is me.”

“Do I choose? Or do you choose who is me and who is you?”

“We choose”

“Who is we?”

“We is you. We is me”

“How could that be? When we is you, you are you, me is me and I am I.”

“What the hell on planet earth do you mean”

“Well I mean to say we are one, but we are many”

“We are a collective. We are whole. We are together. We are all you need.”

The heart, the body’s, mind and soul. We connect some how some way.

“Then who do I listen to, look to for truth or guidance”

“Them. All of them”

I was six, remember.

As I asked a million questions. I heard her speak. I felt her words. I closed my eyes.

I thought.

I thought, well. Well I dare you to split. To seperate, to be a part.

Split into what, into how many?

I opened my eyes and there you were. With one leg this way and one leg that way. For the first time I saw you. Like I really saw you. I felt you. I heard you. Then you disappeared. Vanished. Evaporated into the wind.

“Will I ever see you again?”


“You just have to look. Look closely. Look deeply and you will find me in you. You will find me amongst the wild and the waves. You’ll find me in a crowd or in room with now windows as you lay in the darkness. You’ll find me dancing, you’ll find me singing, you’ll find me painting. You’ll find me talking, you’ll find me laughing. You’ll find me in silence.

I promise when you call I will be there. I will always be there.

I am here now.”

“How can I trust you”

“Why don’t you trust me? What is trust?”

I was hurt. My heart ached. My body weak. I could hear your cry, feel your tears drench the pillow. I felt when the silver blade seperate the skin cells, tore me a part, SPLIT! me open. I felt the blood poor vigorously onto the carpet. I watched it soak in. I watched how you just let it all happen. I watched as time went by, you just laid there letting it happen. I watched you do it over and over again. Until...

I couldn’t bare to watched you bleed.

I couldn’t bare to watch you cry.

I couldn’t bare it.

I couldn’t handle it.

One day someone asked me if the scars you left on me were tribal.

I said they were survival.


About the author

Jazia Tara

A young, beautiful Blasian who loves to dance and sing as the sun shines on her newly born daughter.

A depicted series of tales spoken through an abused child whos determined to survive and find the the lotus amongst the mud.

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