This is not the story of one
But of many
We mold each other
Potters shaping wet clay
I want to deny it
No, this has not happened to me
But it has
You were trite
So self-assured
Lost your morality
Potters of a maligned craft
Seven of you
Making me and others into faulty jars
Cracked mugs
Jagged shards of an incomplete piece
I can remember
It was five years ago
One thousand eight hundred and twenty six days
Forty three thousand eight hundred and twenty four hours
I can still remember
The freezing pain of your silence
Burning sideways glances
Whispers cutting deeper than shattered glass ever could
Sitting among you
At the same time being alone
You extended your friendship
Advice
Condolences
I thought I belonged
Dragged me along on a string
A bright, shiny toy
Breakable
Thrown out
Just like the unknown others
Before and afterwards
You, the treasure
The collectors
The potters
The destructive children
I, the trash
The obtained
The clay
The toy
I meant so little
So little to you
I died and became anew
I was a shadow to you
An illusion of a presence
You killed me with the words
The terrible words
When you talked about me
Secretly
Quietly releasing your poisonous inner thoughts
One instant whole
Happy
Naïve
Proud
One moment shattered
Alone
Paranoid
Self-disgusted
One word
Changed forever
What had I done to you
What had we done
We nameless numerous victims
Stripped of our confidence
No love for ourselves
Not anymore
I locked mine away in a box
A box forged from fear
And put it somewhere
But I forget the place
I cannot find it anymore
You convinced us
Convinced us we were wrong
My clothes
Her hair
His likes
My dislikes
Everyone and everything
Had to be like you
My personality
My mind
My speech
My manner
My actions
All wrong
My lips were sewn together
Bound by your words
You had spoken,
and I could not
Thread crafted by all our hands
Your persecution
My own fear
Wove this binding twine
This binding twine whose frayed strands can be felt even today
I spoke only when spoken to
I speak only when spoken to
We are desperately searching
Desperately grasping
Needing a way to escape our self-constructed solitude
There was no light
Not at the end of the tunnel
Not even faith was a refuge
You came to the House of my God
Love and acceptance, every one of you said
Dutifully
Expectedly
“I would touch the lepers as he once did,” you said
“I would champion the weak”
“I would”
Judging quickly
Judging easily
What has become a walking biblical allegory
I, too dirty
Too unlike the rest
We were the lepers
No one stepped forward
No good Samaritan among you
Time heals us slowly
Our sores disappear
I raised my head to the sky
Expressed fears
Joys
Loves
Opinions
I found those who would sympathize
Cheer
Laugh
Cry
I was a flower in their garden
Un-withering
Extending towards
Reaching for the light
Growing
Flourishing
I can still feel it
The ghost of your contrition
Hanging itself on my every action
I feel it standing before peers
Pick my outfit
Look at myself
Form an opinion
Speak
Make an impression
When I submit
I struggle with the burden we bestowed upon me
Could it go away?
Disappear into nothingness?
No fear
No reservations
I can only imagine what every day would be like
But slowly, the burden becomes a gift
The gift to become stronger
Some days are raw
But not all
Not anymore
Now there is more confidence
And more love
The sun rises
The light spreads
and the flower still grows
I am rebuilding
Remaking
I am becoming
~Baring and Bearing It All, by Anonymous
“The meaning of my work, I think, is of self-acceptance. Of over coming the ideas others put in your head about your self, whether it be things like “Fat” or “Ugly” or “Stupid” or “Strange”. Yes, these words can hurt you. But you can heal, turn those experiences into armor for the future. It’s slow and hard going, but the feeling you get at the end is unlike any other. Tell yourself what you are – don’t let others define you.”
You Will Rise Project 