PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Up here, at this height, Felicia saw the world perfectly, everything was clear.
Up here, there wasn’t a thing Felicia couldn’t do.
Her artwork covered the walls, her journals were packed with poems.
Down there, her mind went all muddy as if she were a fish swimming in flood water.
The air became thin. Noises grew louder. Her skin felt too small, itchy.
She slid along the wall when men passed by. Ran if one moved behind her.
Women? No better.
Today the scars on her back feel swollen and raw.
Each man is her father, every woman her mom.
Up From the Ashes 