I am a shadow
hollow reflections real ;
object inside of me
joy-filled light; content;
yesterdays many fought
memory joy extinguished
made bright; again
I prayed I didn’t
Essence of me;
dying but a shadow
an object inside of me.
from Brave House Secrets
sharing story; empowering truth
Voice, something unimaginable and frighteningly deadly.
Deadly to have voice; that is frightening; don’t you think?
Frightened to have a voice; can you imagine if it were deadly?
Have you ever stopped; to look at shadows? Have you? Have you really?
Have you looked into them deeply; in their eyes; what was inside?
Would you like to know what I found?
A hiding place; a perfect place.
Perfectly, I hid.
A shadow; I became a shadow; remained breathing; without existing.
I found a way to disappear; in plain site I hid.
A shadow is anything it needs to be; even disappears in dark times. Even when visible, a shadow is not real. Neither has it feelings nor thoughts; no emotions can it feel.
Never can it be disappointed. A shadow can only reflect. It reflects back what the real object sees. It lives only because the real object is there. In this case the real object; objects placed for my care. Trust I was suppose to have; love not the despair.
A shadow, me, becomes a void; this blessing; a non-existent self. I become a pigment of dark air salivation(s); myself kept safe; protected; until light could shine again.
There are times in life so desperate, they appear forever hopeless; and to this once, towhead blonde, the situation was indeed sad. I believed if I could be a shadow, forever safe would I remain. No one could ever scream at me, touch me, hurt me, torture, rape, or hit me ever again. If it took losing my every existence to protect my being than I had to do it. It was my breath. It was my survival.
And so above, she stands naked before you; a mission of love she is; from beyond the shadows she stands; weeping eyes in grief. To light a way, for all to see; for you too. . .
Own your story without shadow; without fear, and,
paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower