I always thought that maybe I was the poison.

Maybe the negative thoughts in my head seeped out through my fingertips and absorbed into every body that I ever lovingly touched.

I became the very thing that I was afraid of.

I had been so afraid of toxicity seeping into my bones that I was unaware to the fact that I was the substance I was most terrified of.

Every word, every touch, cancer to anyone around me.

An exhausting struggle ensued for anyone unfortunate enough to be within my grasp.

The snake in Eden, that was me. Convincing you to take my forbidden fruit.

One bite of the apple and you realized the mistake that you had made. And so you had to pay for your sin.

But no one ever told you to not take the forbidden fruit. No one ever told you there were rules. No one ever warned you of me, yet you faced your punishment.

One bite, and you were poisoned.

My poison now pumped through your veins as if it was your very own blood. Destroying every shred of sanity that was left to be found in your body.

Yet because I myself was the complete form of toxicity, I didn’t even realize I was poisoning you, until it was much too late.

My touch burned you, but my words were so inviting you couldn’t tear away, until you yourself became the exact thing that you too feared. Our poisons intertwined to create something so disastrous that neither one of us could escape the pain that the other brought.

My apple of Eden destroyed you. And so we destroyed each other.



I can’t imagine what it must feel like to love or live with someone who suffers from mental illness, especially when they themselves don’t suffer.

From my point of view, as a sufferer, it’s already difficult enough. The day to day things can become extremely trying. I hear the things I say and see the things I do and I question everything about who I am. Right now is especially hard. I have touched on the fact that my medication isn’t working properly in a previous post. So right now I am overthinking, anxious and constantly having mood swings. It’s hard enough on me, so what about the people around me?

It’s one of those things where I understand why people leave. Why they don’t want to stay. Why it becomes all too overwhelming. All too much. Yet I also have to remind myself that if someone loves you, they’ll stick by your side. Love isn’t just about the ups. Love includes the downs. I am very much so on a downswing.

Recognizing a down swing is important. However, just because I recognize this does not mean that I can control or fix every aspect of what I am going through. Recognizing this allows me to help myself find coping mechanisms. Allows me to ease the pain a bit.

So when a person you’re dating doesn’t have a mental illness, how do they cope? How do they find relief when you’re being all too difficult? How do they deal with the fact that you’re on an emotional roller coaster and you’re dragging them along for the ride?

Mental illness is a huge amount of baggage to take on. To carry, even. It brings on a lot of stress, worry, and doubt. It’s hard to see those that you love walk away because they couldn’t cope with your baggage. The loss of someone because of your mental  illness is one of the most painful losses. Mental illness is something that will be with me for the rest of my life, and to see someone walk away because of something I have little control over is extremely tolling. I can take meds, I can go to therapy. These things all help, and they help a great deal, but the illness doesn’t just go away. With time new ways to manage it are learned, and it does get better, but it will always remain. Bad days will happen. Breakdowns will still occur.

One thing that I think is important is the education of mental illness. Educating the person you’re with can help a great deal. I have come to realize that even after some educating a lot of people still don’t understand it. That’s okay, but putting in the effort to learn is something I find very important. That’s why I appreciate every single person that takes the time to read this blog. I’m hoping to give a little insight as to how mental illness works and affects us on a day to day basis. And maybe, just maybe I can help someone along the way. I want whoever I am with, whoever I marry, to read these things. Or at least do a little research. Learn why I am this way. Learn about the chemical imbalances. Learn how to help. For me, personally, helping me is as simple as just being there listening. Telling me it’s going to be okay. Helping me is caring enough to learn about why my mind works the way it does. Learning my triggers. Listening instead of just hearing what I have to say. I know that it seems like a lot to ask for of someone. I know that someone out there is willing to do those things. To put in that sort of effort.

Overall, I am not a difficult person to love. I am very understanding, patient. I am caring and loving. Kind and sweet. Overall a very happy person. Except in times like these. Times where my mood balancer is no longer working for me. It’s a devastating time for me. It’s devastating because my meds aren’t working and I haven’t felt these mood swings in over a year. Devastating because I see it pushing people away. Devastating because there isn’t much I can do but wait until my appointment to alter my medications. Knowing what normal felt like makes this all the more painful. I am more aware than ever of the things I am doing and saying that aren’t normal, or acceptable. I am more than aware of my negative feelings. Some of them are easier to curb because they are gradual and I can prepare myself. Some of them I don’t realize are happening until after the fact. This is what makes it so hard.

I just want my normal, healthy self back. I want my relationship to be successful, but only if he’s willing to stick by my side, good times or bad. I want to be happy again. Granted, I am not sitting here depressed all day every day. More so it’s a rise in the frequency of my anxiety bouts and attacks. For me, there is a distinct difference between anxiety attacks and panic attacks. Anxiety attacks for me feel like a thousand bricks on my chest, slowed breathing and extreme feelings of nausea. Panic attacks for me is hyperventilating for a few minutes and feeling like I might pass out.  Last night I had several anxiety attacks. I couldn’t sleep. I thought I was going to throw up all night. My relationship is in limbo. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do. It is no longer in my hands. I explained myself and my feelings, so all I can do is wait. I have been a person that always has felt like waiting isn’t fair. Mostly because my anxiety will be heightened until I know for certain what is going to happen.

I hate every waking second of this. As crappy is this is to say, sleep is my relief, my comfort right now. It is the only time that my mind is not racing with a million thoughts. The only time my nausea dissipates. I know that things will be okay in the long run, but for the time being I am trapped in my own personal hell. July 11th is my next opportunity to escape this hell. That is the day I go in for a reevaluation of my medication. I cannot wait for that day to come. It can’t come soon enough.

I only ask that people bare with me for the time being. The weeks will be short and I will be better. I know that these feelings and this behavior isn’t permanent. The convincing others that that is true is the hard part.

I try to tell myself that what’s meant to happen will happen. Those that stick by my side in this difficult time are the people I know truly care, and are the people I truly want by my side above anyone else.

So to those that stick with me, support me and show patience, know that it means the world to me, and I love you all.



I had never been so hungry in my life.

Although I was eating well, your presence left me starving.

The absence of human decency left me vacant, looking for something more yet never finding it.

You thought I was well fed, based solely on the fact that you were force feeding me. Your spoon full of lies, and deception, jammed down my throat. The metal scraping the back and leaving it sore.

Yet when I looked in the mirror I saw skin and bones. A skeleton, frail and withering away.

I needed nutrients, and you were sucking me dry.

Not only were you force feeding me, you were draining me. Each time the spoon was removed, it brought something back with it. My soul, my heart, came back up bit by bit. As if I was willingly regurgitating it for your taking.

Emotionally anorexic. Allowing myself to be starved of feeling. And for whatever reason, I allowed it. I found company in the pain of your extractions and excavations.

They told me I would die if I continued to starve. My wake-up call. I realized I was hungry. So fucking hungry.

The next time you tried to jam your spoon down my throat I sealed my lips in protest. Silent, but resistant. You didn’t like that too much. You became so angry with my silent protests that you left me.

You left me, but your leaving allowed me to start filling up again. My hunger for feeling slowly dissipated as I found myself and the pieces you stole from me. I began to feel full. I began to regain health.

So you tried to come back. I saw your spoon in hand and so I refused to let you in. You tried so hard, you pretended the spoon was an airplane and my mouth the landing strip. I wouldn’t allow it.

I didn’t want to be hungry again.

I began to imagine how empty you must feel, if you came back to take from me what I had gained. Yet I did not feel sorry for you. Your spoon, the airplane, on a crash course and I was the field it wanted to land in. There’s no room in this land for you, though.

I am so full that there is no space for you. No crevice, no crack, no gap.

So I pretend that you died. You are buried deep beneath the soil where I can no longer find you, and I am so full. I am no longer hungry.


A Months Time


A month. 

It’s already been a month. 

One month ago, and a few days, I had a massive mental breakdown. My whole world came collapsing in on me and I wanted to die. Thoughts of ending my life had never been so prominent. Never been so loud. Yet here I am, alive, and (mostly) well. Somehow I was able to drown out the screams of suicide. Somehow I was able to begin recovery. 

While my breakdown was inevitable, it’s been a hard road since. In the last few weeks I’ve also learned and realized that my medication is no longer working for me. So on top of recovering, I am now coping with feelings that I haven’t felt in a year. Extreme anger. Severe anxiety. Doubt. I’m scared of every decision I make. I overthink everything. Things that I didn’t really feel when my medicine was working properly. Realizing this has brought me other feelings as well. I’m scared of the feelings I have. Because I don’t like the hayli I am when I’m not medicated. When I’m not regulated. I hurt people. Especially myself. I tend to drive people away with my constant mood swings and questioning. So trying to reel that part of me in is proving difficult and at times impossible. 

One month ago I was in a hospital bed. Facing the recommendation of being put in a crisis clinic. (I didn’t go.) 

One month ago I felt weak. 

One month ago I hated everyone and everything but mostly myself. 

One month ago my mental walls collapsed and allowed me to feel feelings I had been storing away for five years. Feelings of abandonment. 

I’m stronger than I was a month ago. I have a new struggle placed before me with my failing medication. But I am strong. 

I am strong because I am alive. 

I reached out for help. 

You know what else? I already have an appointment to fix this issue with my meds. And that is something I’m proud of. 

One year ago I don’t think I would’ve done that. I would’ve given up. 

I have a hard battle ahead of me. I have demons I have to face every day. These days are dark and they are hard. Yet I somehow find a tiny beam of light to show me the way. While the battle may be long and difficult, I know that once I come out, I will be victorious. The taste of victory will never have been so sweet. I will have wisdom and strength that I never knew I could have. 

I’ve never been a glass half empty kind of girl. It’s always been half full. If you really look at it though, the glass is always full. One half is air. The other water. Just because you can’t see one half, doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

Today I cut my hair. Tonight I regret it. I think I sought a change. Something I could control, since right now there’s not much I have control over. Yet I feel as though I just let go of something I loved. I know, it sounds silly. It’s hair. It grows back. Yet I still feel that way. Know what’s sillier? I feel less loved. Less beautiful. I know this is the downswing of my meds talking. I know this is regret of a spur of the moment decision talking. I know I will come to love it once I get use to it. 

This last month so much has happened. I lived. I grew. I made changes. I have more yet to come, and I will be stronger because of it. 



I feel like water. 

You needed me to survive, but once you got too much of me you drown. 

You inhaled me too deeply, and so I filled your lungs and weighed you down. 

I feel like water. 

Beautiful on the surface, but what lay underneath is dark, cold, and mysterious. 

You wanted to swim to the bottom to see what it held, but once you reached my ocean floor the weight was too much for you to bare. 

I crushed you. 

I feel like water. 

I’m inviting, yet no one stays too long. 

I become too cold, it becomes too dark. Everyone must return home at some point, right? 

I am water. 

While I can be destructive, and terrifying, I have the potential to be beautiful and calming. 

My waves soothing the soul of a lost wanderer. 

What lay beneath the surface is depth and wonder. 

I feel like water. 

My Great Escapes 


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In life, we are all bound to come across a relationship or two that isn’t healthy. May that be a friendship, romantic relationship, or a relationship with a family member. Unfortunately we cannot be blessed with surrounding ourselves with only healthy people, all of the time. 

I’ve had my fair share of unhealthy. Maybe to some I was even the unhealthy one. These relationships are hard to get out of. There always seems to be invisible chains binding you to the person, never allowing you to escape. Until finally, hopefully, one day you find the key. 

My relationship with my mother was one of the most unhealthy relationships I’ve ever had. It was very emotionally abusive. While she will not recognize that maybe ever, I have realized why things were that way and am able to move forward because of this realization. My family pits the blame on me for our family falling apart. It’s something I refuse to accept. While I won’t get into detail for privacys sake, my mother is someone who suffers from mental illness. As a child I was unable to recognize this because I simply thought that was just how things were supposed to be. As I grew, and realized my life was far from normal, and as I too began to suffer from mental illness, my eyes were opened to her suffering. It had, and still is, something my father and mother sweep under the rug. I pray that someday she gets the help that she needs. As a teen, the relationship with her began to grow in its unhealthy state. I began to stand up for what I felt, and her reigns of control only got tighter. I was allowed to do almost nothing but spend time with her and her only. Words that she placed upon me helped to spiral me into an eating disorder. I will never put that full blame on her, as eating disorders are mental illnesses, but I was definitely pushed. Our fighting increased. I was made to keep life altering secrets. Everything spiraled out of control. That spiral led me to where I am today. That spiral is why we have no relationship. 

Unfortunately for me, this relationship I had with my mother led me to more unhealthiness. I began to choose friends who were very much verbally abusive. Words I heard on a daily basis damaged my self esteem so much so that I thought I would never gain it back. Whore. Ugly. Bitch. Slut. Anorexic. Albino. Stupid. The list grew and grew as I kept these friendships. Eventually this abuse led to a physical altercation. Although the abuse was damaging, I learned a very valuable lesson that I still use today- I must always stand up for myself and for what is right. 

As far as romantic relationships go, I’m only in my second one. My first one lasted five long years. This is one of those instances where I know I too was toxic. We were unhealthy for one another. He brought out the worst in me and I brought the worst in him. Constant fighting, belittling and hurt. Our highs were great but our lows were so bad that the damage is unrepairable at our age. We tried for those five years to make it work. Over and over and over again. Yet every time we failed. Lessons were learned, but lessons that we could never seem to apply to our own relationship. We were both very young when we met, and still are quite young. Two unhealthy people make for an unhealthy relationship. While I am growing and so is he, and I have finally become a (mostly) healthy person, I find that we have grown apart. I am taking the knowledge from the abuse and from the failures and applying it to my current relationship, in hopes that what I have learned will help me make a successful and healthy experience with my current boyfriend.

While these are not the only toxic relationships I’ve had, they are the most altering. They have shaped me in ways I could never imagine. Each one was extremely difficult to get out of. 

My mother kicked me out at the age of 17. I’ve been on my own since. We haven’t talked since then either. I am thankful for the way things played out. Although it’s difficult and heartbreaking, it taught me some valuable lessons and helped me to grow. 

My “friendship” ended shortly after the physical altercation. Things were better for a short amount of time after, and then they got worse. I began being stalked (and still am, never know when he’s going to pop up.) by this person. Police have been involved and things have been scary over the years. But I stand my ground. 

My relationship with my ex is non-existent. I was ready for a friendship and he wasn’t. Everything came to a head, and he decided, and I do agree, that it’s best we don’t talk to one another. While he didn’t say it like that, and the fight it was said in was a huge eye opener as to why we couldn’t be friends, I don’t regret the friendship ending. I don’t want to be pulled into yet another loop of toxicity. 

I am free. Finally. 

I am happy. 

I am healthy. 

I am proud of the woman I am today. I have rough days. I have breakdowns. I feel hurt sometimes by these relationships. Yet at the end of the day, I know that they made me stronger. I was strong enough to break free of them, even if sometimes it wasn’t my choice. Abusive relationships are hard to escape. They’re scary. I know that what I went through was nothing in comparison to a lot of struggling men and women out there and I can only imagine the pain they suffer. But there IS a way and you ARE strong enough to break free. 

Let’s Talk Anxiety 



We can all admit that this isn’t a fun topic to read about, to write about, and especially experience. I figured however, that maybe writing about it will calm the feelings that I have caused by it in this current moment. 

Tonight’s anxiety brought to you by: being left on “read.” 

I know that sounds silly. Ridiculous, actually. For someone who suffers anxiety however, it’s not ridiculous. 

My anxious brain tells me that because someone didn’t respond, or opened a Facebook message but didn’t text, or hasn’t talked to me all day after I messaged them, that something is wrong. That I must have messed up. That I did something to make them mad or upset. That it’s going to be a downward spiral for my relationship with that person. I find that once my anxiety clears up, that those things are almost never the case. 

Anxiety likes to make you think a lot of really terrible things. It plants seeds of doubt and worry into your brain and heart. Makes you jump to conclusions you wouldn’t otherwise jump to. 

So this is where I am tonight. Left on read. Sitting here thinking I must have done something wrong to not get a response. It’s a battle in my brain. One part is saying “Hayli, that’s ridiculous. Stop thinking that way. People don’t HAVE to respond. People fall asleep. Etc etc etc.” Then there’s the other part of my brain. The one that’s screaming into the microphone saying “YOU MESSED UP. YOU IDIOT.” That part seems a little louder tonight. 

My stomachs doing flips. My hearts skipping beats. My mind racing a thousand miles a minute. I know this will pass, but I have to walk through hell to get to the other side. 

Anxiety is not a joke. It’s very difficult and even more difficult to overcome. It’s an ongoing battle. For me, personally, a lot of times I don’t know what will trigger it. A seemingly normal day can turn horrid in a matter of minutes. A certain song, person, or even a word can trigger it. My very observant self will see something so minuscule and turn it into a mountain of hurt. The thing is I can’t help it. 

Anxiety is an illness. I can’t wake up one day and be cured. I can take steps to ease it, but each day is different. Each day brings new challenges and triggers. Medication helps. That’s for certain. I personally hate taking a Xanax every time I feel anxiety coming on though. I don’t want to rely on a medication, a very addictive one at that, to get me through each day, when the illness isn’t life threatening. Life altering, but not threatening. It’s a battle that is hard and one that most of us have to fight alone. Parents, friends, lovers, often don’t understand the illness or the triggers or why we are the way we are. Act the way we act. Think the way we think. That makes it all the more difficult. Trying to get someone to understand it fully seems impossible. For each person it is a completely different battle with a completely different set of triggers and reactions. So tonight being left on read makes me upset. Tomorrow I might not think anything of it. 

I always pray that those I love, or anyone really, doesn’t have to deal with the pain that anxiety brings. I’ve struggled a huge portion of my life with it, and it is very hard. I’ve watched relationships fail because of it. I’ve watched it change me as a person. 

Anxiety is one of the worst things in my life. It brings me down. It exhausts me. Although it’s a part of me, and tonight it is very present, I will not let it define me. I will not let it ruin me. I will not let it determine who I am, where I go, or what I do. I will battle it with everything I have. I will overcome it. Just like you can. Just like you will.  




The words spilled from your lips like a cup overflowing. Each one dripping with a new kind of venom. Each one requiring a new antidote.

Each sentence you spoke like a knife blade dragging across my skin. Cutting and scarring the porcelain flesh that covers my delicate body.

Your lips were two pillows that allowed the lies to rest between them. When you spoke they escaped from the fire that your tongue sparked, fleeing to set my heart ablaze in a damaging inferno.

You were the embodiment of everything that was no good for me, but everything my heart yearned to have.

You were toxic, I was addicted, and you were my drug of choice. My favorite high, my worst low. The withdrawal more painful than anything I have ever experienced.

I wanted to fall out of love with you, but the web of lies that you spun caught me every time and left me stuck with nowhere to go.

You robbed me of everything I had. Yet I was the only one to blame. I left all the doors, every window unlocked. Begging for you to come in and take what you pleased.

You were the cancer slowly killing me, but you were the only thing that I had left. My body, soul, and mind deteriorated before me. I refused treatment that I knew would cure me, because if I was cured of this disease, I would have absolutely nothing.

You were my poison.



Fathers Day


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Fathers Day.

It’s approaching…and I’m sitting here wondering how I’m going to handle it and how I’m going to feel that day. Unfortunately for me, seeing people with their dads, and being happy together, is a trigger for me. Not always, but it does happen. Seems to be more so with fathers and young children. Maybe because when I was a young child is when my father and I had the best relationship….and now it’s non-existent.

Fathers Day.

That’s the last time I heard from my dad. Fathers day of 2016. So now I also have that sick reminder. It’s funny isn’t it? That the last time I heard from him was on his holiday??? I wished him happy birthday last year and got silence. Silence on my birthday this year from him. Complete and utter silence. I think the only reason why I don’t delete the messages between us is because somewhere in there he told me that he loved me. Words I haven’t heard from him in years, vocally. Some of the magic is gone since they’re simple text, but he still said them. That’s what I hold onto. I don’t even have my dad in my phone contacts saved as “Dad,” I have his whole, full, legal name.

Between September 19, 2015 and June 19, 2016, he sent me a total of 7 text messages. 3 of those messages contained ONLY emojis.

June 19, 2016, 10:02 PM. His last message to me.

I wonder what put a stop to the already minimal contact. I don’t blame myself, but I do wonder what provoked it. Was it something that my mom said? Did someone tell him something about me? I would like to think that if he truly knew what was going on in my life, he would be proud of me. Steady job, a car, college student (with good grades), constantly seeking to better myself (and achieving) and I take care of myself completely. Does he know these things?

Sometimes I wonder what my mother makes of all the things I am doing with my life. Is she proud, or does her distaste for her own daughter cloud her judgment and make it into something she hates even more so?

I’d like to think that one day I will be able to have a happy and healthy relationship with my parents. Or at least with my dad. It saddens me to think that the day that happens is probably still years away. It’s already been 5 years. Will I have to wait 5 more? Will a decade go by before I talk to them again? There are so many questions that I have I know will go unanswered for a very long time. And if the day comes that I do get to talk to them again I am not even sure that they will want to answer them.

Fathers Day.

This is the part where I take the time to thank the people who have stepped up in my life over the last 5 years to play the father role, or any role that may have helped portray the presence of a parent.

Thank you to my Grandma Anna, aka “mom,” for providing me with a loving home. For always wanting to know where I am, so that she knows I’m safe, even if I am 22. For loving me when I’m not so lovable. For always doing what you can to help me. For giving me laughs and smiles, and for -almost- always picking my side and supporting me in everything I do. Thank you for looking out for me, especially since you’ve seen all the heartbreak that I have had to endure. Thank you for being both my mom and my dad. I love you more than you know.

Thank you to my grandparents, grandpa and grandma “cow lady.” Thank you for always being there for me. For telling me all those silly stories. For having water-gun (or hose) fights with me. For always supporting me. For calling me and for having me over whenever I just decide to show up. For being the best grandparents I could ever ask for. For showing me what true love is, and what a loving, healthy, relationship looks like. I always tell people I want a love like yours when I grow old. Thank you for all that you do. I love you. And thank you Uncle Richard for always putting a smile on my face, and being the best uncle a girl could ask for! I love you, too.

Thank you to my brother. Thank you for being my shoulder to cry on. For not judging me no matter how dumb my decision. For being so open with me, and for all those weird conversations we have. For helping me get unstuck, whether its out of sand or a sticky situation, or a funk. For being my twin. For loving me no matter how many arguments we get in, or what dumb stuff we decide to say when we are angry. For being you. For making me laugh, smile, and for letting me always be myself. I am so grateful we are so close, and that we have the relationship that we do. I know we can always count on one another. I love you to the moon and back, bubby.

Thank you to my “Mom,” Mrs.D. (Names shortened for privacy sake.) Thank you for all of your kind words of wisdom. For supporting what makes me happy, as long as it’s in my best interest. For the occasional dose of tough, honest love. For always being honest with me, instead of just telling me what I need to hear. Thank you for being there when I need you the most. Thank you for the movie nights, the walks, and our conversations at your dinner table. Thank you for all that you have done. I can never thank you enough. You forever hold a piece and a place in my heart.

Thank you to anyone who’s ever been there or supported me in my endeavors. Thank you for anyone who has played the mom or dad role at some point in my life. Thank you to anyone in my life. Thank you.

While I might not have my father on Fathers Day, I do have those who have played that role at some point or another. My family is the best family I could ask for. We have our moments, and sometimes things aren’t all rainbows and butterflies, but at the end of the day, they’re my family. They love me. I am so thankful for them.

When this Fathers Day tears me down,  I know that they will be there to pick me up and dust me off. I know that they will provide me with laughs, with smiles, and with love. I know that they’re there, even when my real dad isn’t.

Although you won’t read this, and even though you don’t talk to me, I am thankful that my two brothers have a relationship with you. I am grateful for that. While I don’t get to experience that, I would hate for any of your other children to feel your absence. I know first hand how devastating it is. So….

Happy Fathers Day, Dad.

Spread Eagle 


As women, we are expected to be polite, lady-like and graceful. 

Legs crossed. Hands in my lap. Smile on my face. 

When I stand, a red spot marks my thigh from where the other rested. 

My hands tingle from sitting nicely folded for so long. 

My cheeks hurt from smiling for what seems like an eternity. 

All the while I stare at you, a man, sitting across from me, spread eagle. 

In America, eagles represent freedom. 

Maybe that’s why it’s called spread eagle. 

Maybe that’s why it’s acceptable for men to sit that way and not for women. 

Men, they are free. 

My crossed legs and yours wide open. 

My legs chains and your legs wings. 

I too, want to spread my wings. 

I want it to be acceptable to fly as a woman. 

My legs, these chains, bind me to oppression. 

They bind every woman I know. 

Did you know, it is illegal to kill an eagle here in America? 

While you fly free, my inner eagle is much like those you see caged at the zoo. 


Unable to fly free. 

When will we break these chains of oppression? 

When will our eagles be released from their cages? 

It’s illegal to kill eagles in America. 

So why is it okay to kill mine?