quiet verbal abuse

Sometimes I felt like this during my stay at Morningstar.
There is a quiet verbal abuse that I endure; perhaps we all endure, people are angry because they are not treated right.
I walked amongst them I do not understand, they lash out but I endure, perhaps we all endure.
The world has not treated me kindly, you have treated me right, other voices lash out, and the world has treated them like hell.
I think I live in heaven, they think they live in hell.
This happened so long ago, lashes of steel words and shards of broken English were pointed at me, perhaps us.
I have learned to walk tall and see the words as cries for help, perhaps you have to,
I do not try to help anyone anymore I only see there words as voices crying, perhaps speaking softly.
I stop to listen; perhaps I'll understand, perhaps not.
I live in a world of our images of god; I assume it's the garden, perhaps the garden to play in.
Laurel is calling I have to go.
+
I embed these words into my early stay at Morningstar (Tomas2). Some folks were very angry that I arrived. I have always been a scapegoat, I look the part, I seemed to represent the influx of people that continued to arrive after the first were told to leave. I was not aware of what was going on at the time of my arrival but by reading everything, I fall into the category of arriving to late. I did not know my position in the community at the time, I was very happy to be there.
It seemed that half the folks hated my arrival and the other half loved my arrival.
I was bombarded with emotions that were not pleasureable.
 
 

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