my mother says:
 
when they hurt you,
and they will,
eventually,
hurt you -
take it back.
   
when he calls you words that make your skin crawl,
stand taller, my love, lying down in a hole
is how you become a gravesite, and he deserves no honor like
writing your epithet
 
when they don’t see you as a leader,
find how to guide from inside the operation, my love,
a mouse can level a house if it learns which beam to gnaw
  
when you try to speak and are silenced;
remember this: most language is through our bodies
and like language, our rage has a way of coming out even
when our tongues are stilled -
no witchfires stopped us, no rocks drowned us:
you cannot kill what is endless.
 
when they hurt you, and they
will
hurt you,
remember to be the trees of your grandmothers; we are sap sisters
and it is so easy to forget that amber’s embrace is forever;
no woman on this planet is entirely broken -
you cannot break
lightning, from stone comes more stone,
from the edge of the ocean we at once
rose
  
when they hit you, turn no cheek
when they hate you, live a revengefully happy life
when they send you to hell, learn to love heat
 
when they send you to the kitchen,
pick up a knife.

I’ve found that there is always some beauty left — in nature, sunshine, freedom, in yourself; these can help you. Look at these things, then find yourself again, and God, and then you regain your balance.