What does it do to a person?
Having a message of unworthiness
driven deep into their soul.
Not good enough for the mother they adore,
Not good enough for the father they look up to,
Not good enough for the one they love…
Never good enough,
How does one un-see?
That look of repugnance,
their gaze fixed on your visage.
How does one un-hear?
Those bitter recriminations
letting you know how you disappoint.
How does one forget that feeling
deep in your gut?
When naked you stand
in body and heart,
your deepest desires thwarted.
When they stand before you unmoved,
their silence joining in a thousand voices...
Voices that told you you’d never be loved.
Voices that still bear witness
to their fear as they contemplate your form,
inciting their passions, stoking their lust!
For loving you must surely be a sickness...
Their desire – mutated disgust.
Consumed in this fugue,
Cloaked in a bilious haze,
How does one see?
Look through darkened vision,
See, and find anything but
what was promised us,
what was whispered of in horror…
How does one reconcile?
To being the monster in the mirror.
Now imagine... if you can
What it takes to rise above such disgust.
To walk through the blinding lies,
To learn again to see,
To find yourself…amidst the carnage,
Your battered body
A thing of beauty.
Imagine the courage you’d have to find
in leaving all your “loved ones” behind
still stumbling around in hate.
To forge a path forward for yourself
knowing the brickbats will never abate.
Imagine that absolute terror
in entirely reshaping your world,
Expanding it’s dimensions
Till at last… YOU FIT!
Imagine the bottomless reservoir of strength
From which you must ceaselessly draw,
Or perish under the onslaught
Of unprovoked rage,
Scraping you raw.
And even with those resources sometimes
blindsided you find
that bruised child still lives inside you.
You’re whole of heart,
Yet still it bleeds,
And though you’re a fighter,
Though you’ve survived,
Left the worst of the battle in your wake...
As you sleep the sleep of exhausted warriors,
Your healed over scars still ache.
So, when you see me smile next,
Or a smiling face just like mine,
Know that you stand in the presence of giants,
Be cognizant of our might…
Conscripted in a war not of our making,
Every day, we fight!