Of events I didn’t choose, and plans I mapped out,
Of goals and dreams and hopes, some realised, some put aside,
some relegated to darkest corners of my memory;
Of people I have encountered along the way
Of joys and sorrows shared, connections made,
Of pain concealed and private reflection, veiled belief and unspoken debate,
Of contemplation, musings and silent brooding.
The ME I carry inside is the product of psychological carcinogens,
Of cerebral warfare, bayonets and subliminal Molotov cocktails
Of emotional barbed wire and incarceration
The target of soul destroying machine guns and flame throwers
Mere cannon fodder in someone else’s pitiful game.
A pawn, a pilgrim, journeyman, jester and vagrant.
A queen, a fool, artisan, washerwoman and dreamer.
The ME I carry inside is a little girl who is trying to sing
with a trembling voice. I see her courage, her tears and sense her pain
And all I feel is compassion and kindness
I want her to be safe, and to be cared for
To hear her story and tend her scars, for her to live without fear,
I wish for her a haven to run to, a place of healing and peace
A safe secret enclave where one can breathe and simply be
I wish her quiet forests and places of peace
The ME I carry inside is on a journey
Where the sun has burnt and the winters have been harsh
And if I don’t care for her – who will?
Just as I would love and care for another with her story
So I choose to care for the ME I carry inside
I will give her time: to be, to breathe, to feel the wind on her face
And I will nourish her soul and apply balm to her feet
And give her the time to speak of all she’s known
And I will say “Rest here, beloved child”
I am unique, a precious stone, beautiful and with hidden depths.
I am creating a habit of self care and self compassion
This is not the end of my story.
[Originally posted on this blog in February 2016]